This “Best” story comes to us from Sandi A.
I met my husband of 45 years, in September of 1966. By Valentine’s Day, I knew that I loved him. When I got home from work that Valentine’s Day, I saw a vase of beautiful yellow roses waiting for me on the table. Seventeen yellow roses. Not being much of a romantic (sorry) I couldn’tquite figure out the number. A dozen maybe, a dozen and a half…but 17?
I even called the florist to see why the extra rose. I never quite
figured it out. Last year I was away and he sent me a text that said “September 17th, 1966 the happiest day of my life.” Finally, the light bulb clicked.
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