I nagged my husband for flowers on Mother’s Day. I mean, sometimes a girl just wants flowers, right?

They were beautiful, of course. Covered in sliver glitter and pink. The hand-written note was sweet, even though the florist wrote it.

When I saw the delivery truck pull onto our street I assumed it was headed to my driveway. I hoped it would. It had been quite a while since flowers arrived at my door.

It did.

“I knew these were for me,” I told the delivery lady. “Aren’t they beautiful!”

The bouquet spent the next three days in my office with the door closed because our cat eats and pukes the petals. 

I know.

And once the weekend was over, the flowers were dead.

“Oh shoot,” my husband said. “You had to throw them away already?”

I could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

Years ago when our relationship was brand new, my husband would surprise me with flowers often. I saved every petal he gave me when we were dating and the flower girls even dropped the dried rose petals before I walked down the aisle on the night of our wedding.

It was all something out of a romance novel. And I loved it.

But the flowers don’t come as often anymore. They aren’t practical when we own a cat who will eat anything alive and they just don’t last long enough to justify spending 50 bucks.

Even I know that.

But, blame it on the hormones or sleepless nights, this year I just wanted flowers.


The recent rain and wind storms have been damaging my plants. The last storm knocked over one of my favorites. I could see it all helpless on our deck. But it was cold and raining and dark. I didn’t want to step outside for that plant.

I asked my guy to do it for me.

“Sure thing,” he said without hesitation.

And then it happened. I watched my husband walk outside in his socks to pick up my plant which meant his socks got wet.

Now you need to know something about my husband and wet socks. He hates wet socks. Hates them. It’s one of his biggest pet peeves.

Leave an ice cube on the kitchen floor which then turns into a tiny puddle which then gets stepped on? Terrible idea.

Leave a wet towel on the floor? You get the idea.

“Ah, you got your socks wet for me!” I gushed. “Thank you.”

He smiled a sarcastic smile and went about the evening.

And it hit me. That silly wet sock and all its meaning, meant more to me than any flowers, any day.

See that’s the thing about romance. When it’s young and fresh, flowers are appropriate because the relationship is too new to know the special details. But after 12 ½ years, romance comes in many forms.

Including wet socks.

Here’s my advice to women everywhere. Enjoy the flowers, but look for the deeper meaning in the everyday routine. Does he make your yard look gorgeous? Help with the dirty dishes at night? Play a mean game of UNO with your babies? That’s romance, friends. And it lasts way longer than any pink glitter bouquet. 

Leslie Means

Leslie is the founder and owner of Her View From Home.com. She is also a former news anchor, published children’s book author, weekly columnist, and has several published short stories as well. She is married to a very patient man. Together they have three fantastic kids.  When she’s not sharing too much personal information online and in the newspaper – you’ll find Leslie somewhere in Nebraska hanging out with family and friends. There’s also a 75% chance at any given time, you’ll spot her in the aisles at Target.