I felt really odd carrying them through Sainsbury's on my way to the exit. A lady looked at me with a kind of knowing smile and I smiled meekly back, looking for all the world like a man on an elaborate mission to say sorry for something awful.
That wasn't why I was carrying a massive bunch of colourful flowers and a bottle of bubbly, by the way; just to make it absolutely clear - I haven't upset any ladies, as far as I know! At least, not this week.
No, this was my attempt to do something nice for Louise, who became engaged-to-be-married, over the weekend.
Ah love, that most excellent of things, striking at the heartstrings and shimmering through the air as Cupid plies his softened bow with delicate arrows. How sweet. I scanned the aisles and checkouts for anyone I know from church, just to make sure no-one saw me clutching a massive bunch of flowers and an expensive bottle of champagne and accidentally got the wrong idea.
"I didn't really expect it to be such a nice feeling, thinking about getting married," said Louise, later. It turned out that she had orchestrated the entire engagement process, leaving her boyfriend little room for imaginative romance or surprising creativity in the procedure. I got the feeling that her excellent organisational skills suited both of them in that regard. Nonetheless, it was interesting to me that she hadn't planned on feeling quite so warm and fuzzy once it had happened.
"I think that's how it's supposed to be," I said, doing my best to offer what must have been strange appreciation from an ageing singleton. And I do mean it. While it might not quite have worked itself out for me, I believe wholeheartedly in marriage and I will continue to champion it wherever I can. And that is the real reason I bought flowers and champers today.
The event did also mean though that I was forced into sending round The Card of Many Signatures. You might have heard me lament this thing before - cards go round the office sometimes, requiring signatures and witty remarks on big birthdays, house-moves or most commonly, people leaving. I don't like the Card of Many Signatures, but I knew it had to be done, and so a little reluctantly, I printed out the list of names, crossed off my own (I normally forget to do this), stapled it onto an A4 envelope and slotted Louise's card inside, ready for sending round the room like a hot potato.
She was pleased to see all the names I think. A few people had (predictably) sent in their deepest condolences to her fiancé, and there was a scattering of all-the-bests and fabulous-newses, as you might expect. I had written congratulations in massive letters. I think that's how you celebrate things like this: massive letters. Oh, and with flowers and champagne of course.
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