by Carol Burnside (aka Annie Rayburn)

Initially, I was going to talk about Valentine’s Day which is coming up this Thursday. When I mentioned this to Miss Maggie, she paused in mid-stream pour of my cup of tea and harrumphed. I’m not sure what that meant, but I forged on. In preparation for writing this romance post, I took two online quizzes which were supposed to determine whether or not I was romantic. Now, I know I am, but answered the questions honestly, even when I suspected they weren’t on the highly romantic end of things. But during the process, I noticed a vast difference between the quizzes and it changed the slant of my post.  

On the Quizopolous  site, the questions centered on what I consider lazy romance – much like clichés in writing fiction. Songs, reading poetry to one’s partner, bubble baths, moonlit beaches, flowers, my pajama choices. I scored 4 out of 15! Me. A romance writer. The verdict was that I considered matching sweatpants romantic. At my exclamation of dismay, Miss Maggie peeked at the screen over my shoulder and shook her head. 

Then I took the Chatterbean quiz and was pronounced a ‘Hopeless Romantic!’ This quiz got a “There ya go.” comment from Miss Maggie as she carried our teacups to the sink. The questions here were more about my habits. Do I kiss with my eyes closed? Fiction or non-fic? Love stories or comedy? There were questions about my feelings on PDA and whether I thought about my partner during the day. IMO, they were focusing more on my inner romantic nature rather than outer, schmaltzy behavior.  

Perhaps it’s my age, or the fact that I was raised by practical-minded, frugal women, but there are a lot of supposedly ‘romantic’ things I find frivolous and even consider them lazy clichés. Yes, I’d be somewhat disappointed if my hubby bought me a heart box of candy and a bouquet of flowers for Valentine’s. That worked when I was 14, but now the candy would sabotage my diet. (I’ve lost 12 pounds, y’all!) The flowers? Eh, I could live with them as long as he didn’t spend a small fortune. I’d rather have a nice evening out with him or a piece of jewelry that reminds me of the occasion.  

Romance is me getting the oil changed and filling the gas tank before a trip because Hubby was out of town and it would be a mad rush for him to get those things done upon his return. It’s remembering to keep a supply of his favorite diet pudding on hand, his favorite drink stocked or picking up his business mail while I’m in town so he doesn’t have to stop at midnight after a long day of traveling. To me, those things say “I love you still, after more than three decades of marriage.” 

I’m betting our readers and my blog sisters have some definite opinions about what’s romantic and not. Please share. Name three things you find romantic or tell me how you show your love in everyday ways.

Sissy Blue tiptoed down the wide staircase that lead to the oversized entryway and froze upon spotting Miss Maggie.

“Hello Sweetie. I’ve never seen you up so early.” The bright-eyed lady studied her disheveled appearance.  “Honey, you need to do something about that hair. I’m about to make some coffee.”

“Right, I’ll be down in a sec,” Sissy replied over her shoulder and rushed back upstairs into the guest bedroom.

Jimmy Blue stood in the middle of the room scratched at his unshaven jawline and yawned. “Is the coast clear?”

Sissy sunk into the bed, “No Miss Maggie is up. She will wring my neck for bringing you here last night.”

“This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “We’re married.”

“I’m mad at you Jimmy, technically we’re separated. And keep your voice down.”

“We are?” His voice did not lower. “Since when?”

Eyes narrowed she crossed her arms over her chest.  “Since yesterday when I caught you sneaking off with that tackle box, after you told me you were going to the men’s meeting at church.”

“Is that so? Well I’m leaving.” John huffed and went to the window.

“What are you doing?” Sissy scrambled to grab at him when he lifted it open and stuck one leg out.  “Don’t you dare try to climb out Jimmy, for goodness sakes, you’re almost fifty, you’ll break your darn neck.”

Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows at her.  “If I’m your dirty little secret, I may as well play the part.  Can I come over again tonight?” One leg still on the outside, he wiggled his butt at her.

Sissy giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.  “You are crazy. Come on let’s tell Miss Maggie I’m going home.”

Light on her feet, Sissy glided back down the stairs.  “Miss Maggie?”

In the kitchen Miss Maggie stood by the large glass doors and waved her over.  “I think you should take Jimmy back, dear.  Bless his heart, look at him.”

“What?” Sissy looked behind her and what do you know, Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. She rushed to where Miss Maggie stood and  her mouth fell open. Her husband was hanging upside down from the apple tree in the backyard. “What’s that darn fool doing?”

Miss Maggie shrugged, “I don’t quite know, maybe he was trying to get you an apple and lost his balance. Hey Jimmy Blue!”  She waved at Jimmy who yelped and tumbled to the ground. “Bless his heart, he’s missing a sock.”

When Jimmy sat up and blinked, Sissy pulled Miss Maggie away from the window.  “I may just give him another chance, but first let’s have breakfast. I really could use some of that cup of coffee now.”

Hildie McQueen Author of Where The Four Winds Collide lives in Augusta, Georgia with her super hero Husband Kurt, and two unruly Chihuahuas, Pancho and Pepito.  Catch her at www.hildiemcqueen.com

image credit: zetwe / 123RF Stock Photo