Steel

Long ago, and not at all far away, two good people were getting to know each other. She was not charmed by one-size romantic notions, and wary of persuasive words without concrete follow-up, and especially of forced fun. He asked what she wanted for her birthday, and she recoiled at the idea of pretty gifts for the sake of making him happy, or rather a different him. She asked for a good, stainless steel bowl. Really needed one, it was not meant as a test, but it sort of was.

He gave her a set of steel mixing bowls. He listened, which was the real gift. And she still has the bowls, despite a couple of decades and a number of dents. Uses them all the time.


Never, not for one day, have I ever regretted, in any way, marrying D. Grateful beyond words, more like. Our idea of romantic, and yes, we do have one, is more down to earth, individual, and practical. Making dinner, clearing the litter boxes, sending a relevant link, that sort of thing.

I get my own roses, from Trader Joe's these days, and chocolate, ditto. I feel very much listened to, and D feels cared for. He finds his own comic books and guitar gear. The heart of romantic gestures, the warmth and regard behind the expression. He treats me tenderly.