Eleven Roses

So, we all agree that I am, by far, the most spoiled wife, right? Well, Weston continues to make sure that I can lay my head on the spoiled pillow night after night.

Last week, in an attempt to make me happy, he bought me six red roses from the grocery store. Now, this is a sweet attempt, but I really don't love grocery store flowers. They are small, they never open, and they don't have any smell at all. But, I thanked him profusely, placed them in water and promptly, well, honestly, I forgot about them all together.

But, my darling husband who knows how much I LOVE flowers, noticed on Monday that I had nothing to put as the centerpiece of my dining table. The peonies have all bloomed and faded and my roses are still working on producing buds, so as far as free flowers, I am out of luck. So, considerate and sweet husband that he is, he stopped by the florist and purchased a dozen roses. They are absolutely gorgeous and I know now, for a fact, that I am extremely spoiled.

However, while I was cutting them to place them in the vase, I noticed something a little odd.

"Honey, did you buy a dozen roses?"
"Yes, why?"
"Well, I think that they only gave you eleven."
"Are you Sure? Did you miscount?"

Now, I forgive this questioning of my elementary counting skills due to the fact that I am staring at eleven HUGE blooms. The rest of our discussion was about what the florist did with the other bloom. Is this his way of saving a little extra money in a down economy? Every twelve dozen he sells, he gets to sell one extra that is pure profit? We can't be sure (and neither Weston nor I feel comfortable calling him on shorting us one rose).

The only thing that is truly for sure is that I am the proud owner of nearly a dozen roses and the delighted wife of probably the sweetest man in the world.