My husband was finishing off his Valentine's Day gift from the boys and me last night.
"You know," he said, popping the last of the chocolate-covered strawberries into his mouth, "your Valentine's gift to me every year is kind of a cop-out."
"Oh, is that right?" I asked, looking up at him from my place at the table. "Well, at least I got you something."
"I got you something!" he replied, motioning with a flourish toward the wilty wildflowers in the center of the kitchen table.
I widened my eyes. "Oh, those? Yes, because that was really hard, to rush into the supermarket all by yourself five minutes before you got home from work and grab them from the refrigerator at the front of the store. If you'd had to drag the kids in with you, I might respect the flowers a bit more.
"Yes," I continued, nodding my head exaggeratedly. "Yes, that must have required much more effort than the evening I made the strawberries with the kids."
"Whatever," my husband replied, rolling his eyes just before catching mine, causing us to both burst into laughter over how ungrateful we can be.
Thank God we "get" each other.
This is what "thank you" looks like in every language, right?
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