Shared via Elaine Mansfield
More than six months passed between the Twelve Night of Christmas and my 40th birthday in 1998. Sam didn’t woo me with wine, flowers or expensive jewelry. The look in his eye, the smile upon his lips, his hands touching mine; he gave me his heart. Sam’s idea of a gift involves “building,” or “making” or “doing”; not “buying” something for somebody.
For my 40th birthday he gave me something I had only dreamed about since I was a little girl: a dinner date with a boyfriend. He had gotten to know me just well enough to know that it wasn’t dinner he was buying that night, it was a feminine fantasy he fulfilled.
“I want to take you out on a date for your birthday,” Sam told me a week in advance. “We’re going out for a prime rib dinner.”
This was my first real date…
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