We have these plastic flowers by our front door. Planted into a pot with dirt. Yep, that's what I said. Planted. In Dirt. As unnaturally colored as fake plastic flowers get. They were put there by my mother-in-law because she figured it was better than the dead plant that used to be there. I hate plastic flowers, but I get her sentiment. And I haven't gotten rid of them yet because once the work day is over, the outside world doesn't exist to me except in the form of grocery shopping. Like Beetlejuice for suburban motherhood.
But the one thing -- the best thing -- about these tacky flowers is that I get a bouquet delivered to my door every single evening when we return home.
Those stupid flowers are pretty endearing.
So I returned the favor by taking her to the local Italian ice place down the street. Ordered one strawberry ice - none for me because she doesn't share things that taste good.
We're working on that.