Also knows as the Housewife's Revolution Against Kitchen Slavery . If you're Russian, or from the former Soviet Union, or, more importantly, your girl is, and you didn't make with some flowers yesterday, you're in trouble as you ought be. It's like a Valentine's Day, although now that USSR adopted western holidays, we get both. Ha.
I'm a sick, sick duck this week (right before I'm cruise bound with giraffy this Friday. Frown), so, yesterday, I got homemade chicken soup with dumplings (from a boy who used to eat out ever.single.meal before I met him), unquestionable control of the remote, a jar of raw honey to eat with a spoon (I heard it's good for you, and I'm getting better before Friday, dammit) and a a couch 'lair' to greet me after work.
Although, flowers aren't limited to romantic relationships. My dad bought me some shoes, my step dad called, and Jesse and I called my mom and grandma. I also ordered some Edible Arrangment flowers for my grandma, but they have so far failed to deliver, so somebody in Chicago is about to get a fire lit under their ass. I am, after all, grumpy and sick.