I’ve never thought of myself as a dozy person. In fact, if you asked most people I know, they’d probably describe me as in control, organized and a tad OCD. I’d always prided myself as being incredibly perceptive, with an above average awareness of the world around me. That is, until I met M.
Moving through life with someone is a lot different than going it alone. There are loads of advantages, but there are some curious disadvantages. Have you ever been a passenger in a car driving somewhere, say a store, that you’ve been to a few times, but when you have to drive there yourself, you have no idea how to get there? By relying on M to get us there, I tend not to pay attention to my surroundings. Not a good thing. For most of my life, I’ve been my primary focus and very self-sufficient. And while I adore the intricate duet of taking care of M and he of me, I’m not as razor-sharp as I was bM (before M). In these moments, he lovingly refers to me as Blasian (blond, Asian).
I went to Halifax to work with a dance company. I get to the hotel and the gal at the front desk tells me it’s not my requested room, but one in the adjacent building. I schlep my suitcase to the room, and I’m not crazy about it. For one or two nights it would have been fine, but since I’d be there for a week, I wanted cozy comfort and the much-anticipated crackling fireplace. I immediately call the front desk, and they explain that the other room will be available the next day. Satisfied, I leave in search of booze.
I’m perusing bottles of wine in a charming waterfront shop when my phone rings. It’s M. I’ve already texted him that I landed safely (a rule we have), so I figure he must really be missing me.
“Hey baby, what you doing?”
“Oh just in a wine store, trying to choose a bottle.”
“You should see the wine here. Great selection. I’ve never seen these bottles at the LCBO. Some of the Californians you buy from Duty Free are here.”
“So… how’s the room?”
“Ugh, I didn’t get the room I wanted, I’m in another building. It’s really drafty and cold and…”
“Ah ha… did the front desk give you anything?
“What do you mean?”
Pause… inhale… exhale… “Did they give you any flowers?”
Pause… slow realization… “What?! What are you talking about? What? Oh baby, that’s so… I didn’t get any flowers.”
“They didn’t give you any?”
“They weren’t in your room?”
“That’s weird. I was told they were already delivered. Check with the front desk when you get back.”
I buy my wine and hurry back. I’m not accustomed to receiving flowers from a beau, and I can’t believe the hotel fucked up the surprise. They assure me the flowers were delivered, and should be in my room. The gal at the front desk says she’ll check the room I was maybe going to be in, because she doesn’t know where else they could be. This is a small boutique hotel, more like a bed and breakfast, so she says she’ll bring them to my room, when she finds them.
Growing more livid, I rush to my room, open the door, scan the room and there on the mantel is a rather elaborate bouquet of colourful wildflowers. In a glass vase. Next to a box of chocolates. And a teddy bear. Now that I think about it, I sort of recall seeing something out the corner of my eye during my room negotiations, something that could have been a stem or even a twig…