Judy and I have been married for more than 20 years. During that time I have bought her cut flowers less than 10 times. The last record I can find of flower-giving is May 2004.
That ratio of purchases to years would fail to bring a smile to even the cheeriest florist’s face. Clearly I haven’t been properly educated in the etiquette of Valentine’s Day, Sweetest Day, Mother’s Day, or a host of other, more obscure, observances such as Random Acts of Kindness Day.
Why am I so stingy, so hard-hearted, so out of touch with the American male’s role in romance? Four words: “Don’t buy me flowers.” This directive comes from my wife and is based on the belief that flowers die and if I’m going to spend money on her, she’d rather it be on something that lasts. Really.
Now the embarrassing part. Recently I was on a business trip and was alone in my hotel room watching TV. Flipping between “Millionaire Matchmaker,” “The Green Hornet” marathon, and “48 Hours Mystery,” I stumbled across the Home Shopping Network. 
Two very animated women were extolling the virtues of an 18-piece set of Pyrex that could go in the refrigerator, freezer, oven, and microwave. The special lids allow you to steam vegetables and the glass containers don’t give off any dangerous chemicals associated with plastics. My resistance crumbled and I finally called. The shame is unimaginable, but I thought Judy would really like them. They were a great deal and, besides, they’re going to last a lot longer than flowers. Anyone up for Pyrex on Valentine’s Day?
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