"Did you check the porch?" My husband asks me from Brazil sounding like he had a head cold from hell. "Nothing there." I answered knowing he'd probably sent flowers. We went on to talk about how he was faring with COVID. I could hear the tropical birds chirping in the background. "Where'd you get them?" I asked, thinking back to the missing bouquet. "At My Wild Valentine." As we hung up I prayed he wasn't going to need paxlovid or a three-hour trip over the mountains to a big city hospital. Later that day around five I wondered about the flowers that didn't show up so I googled My Wild Valentine. They closed at 3. But I left a message. "So my husband apparently sent me flowers. He's in Brazil. With COVID. It's our 15th wedding anniversary and I am upset. Perhaps there's been a mistake?" At 6pm I went to water the baby grass that is refusing to grow in our front lawn. And found these. My thoughtful sweet husband who is fitfully recovering from that nasty virus that he's avoided for two and a half years called the local florist here in Maine and sent me these gorgeous French country looking flowers. He is my wild valentine now and forever more. And was sounding much better on the phone today.
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