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The Write Word

Romance



Romance - a matter of style
There was a time, back when dino’s roamed the earth, when the earth revolved around me. Truly. Ok, maybe not the earth, but at least my schedule, finances and responsibilities revolved me. I pretty much did as I pleased. How funny it is looking back to see just how far I have evolved and how much what pleases me has evolved.
Back then I loved ‘outfits’. The RIGHT shoes to go with the RIGHT skirt and the RIGHT bag and scented with the RIGHT fragrance. It was, I admit, shameless vanity in its most extreme form. Mind you these RIGHT items were purchased second hand and for the tiniest amount of pennies. But still it was extreme vanity. That was yeeeeeeears ago. I’ve long since traded in sleek tiny purses, matching shoes and scented silk scarves for monster sized diaper bag\carry-everything-but-the-dirt-devil\tote bag and comfy footwear. I most often smell of chapped-hiney diaper cream, or better yet, recycled formula. Not only has my image drastically changed, but also the way I view things. Like romance.

There was a time, long ago, when romantic gestures and romantic gifts from Honey Pie, turned my head, warmed my thoughts and melted my heart. They included bouquets of flowers, hand made cards and delectable Godiva chocolates. Just the sight of that man with flowers & chocolates in his hand made me swoon with delight. Ahhh yes such were the ways of the young.

Now I find that the gifts that warm me right to my toes are a far cry from what I once deemed ‘right and fitting’ in the romantic category. When Honey Pie said he will repaint my kitchen the color of my hearts desire, I almost melted on the spot. Forget chocolate honey, a man with a paint brush or carpet laying tool trumps that BIG time.
The tune that thrills and delights me is no longer Kenny G piped softly through cd player. No indeedie, it’s the sound of Honey Pie crooning ‘Hush Little Baby’ in the wee small hours of the night so I can get get a break on the 3 A.M. feeding.

While I still loooooove gifts and red hot burning romantic gestures, I have grown into an easier to please, more appreciative giftee. Last week I celebrated my 39th birthday with the best of both worlds. Romantic gifts of the old AND new style. Beautiful roses and a hoover floormate from Honey Pie. One to beautify and perfume the room, one to de-gunk and spit shine the floor. It just doesn’t get any better than this.

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