My husband and I have very different ideas of romance and attitudes towards PDAs (mine on the effusive side of things, his more reserved). I’m right, obviously, and incidentally resist ever conceding that I’m in the wrong, but I respect his objectively superior approach to relationships.
I recently took a quiz based on a somewhat cheesy book’s theory of love languages and was told that my dominant love language is “gift giving.” This is pretty accurate, I’m ashamed to say. I love giving and receiving presents; I spend days determining the “perfect” gift and misguidedly expect Andrew to do the same. He doesn’t always understand why this is important to me. Difficulties in translation, as it were.
As he sees it, the ultimate display of love is steady commitment and acts of service, which, I’ll admit, are unarguably more critical to a successful marriage than are a bouquet of roses or a Lego architecture set (long story). Though I’m stubborn and greedy, I’ve come around. The truth is, I can’t imagine a life, especially one dominated by chronic illness, void of his quiet, loving, undemanding, and seemingly endless support and tolerance.
But on the Boxing Day of Valentine’s, I’m going to ignore his aversion to romantic gestures and indulge in an enormous Public Display of Affection. Andrew: you’re the best, most selfless man I’ve ever met. And thanks for the pile of Valentine’s Day gifts.