Nobody Asked

Oh, flowers. Nice. That's all your partner said. And you're already explaining.

They were reduced. And the old ones were really past it. And it's been a hard week, so. Your partner just wanted to say they're pretty. Now they're holding three reasons and a vase.

You do this a lot. You sleep in, and list what you did yesterday. You buy a book, and mention it was on sale. You meet friends, and promise it'll be short. Nobody asked. You hand over the slip anyway.

Asked: zero. Explained: sixty-three. Your partner has a drawer full of receipts they never wanted. Every one signed, dated, unread. They'd much rather have you.

Because every explanation says something you didn't mean to say: I'm not sure I'm allowed. And the person next to you starts to wonder who you're afraid of. You're not insecure. You're on trial, all day long. The judge just happens to be you.

So look up from the slip. Who's actually asking? Them? Or whoever sits behind that little desk in your head?

It's you. And here's the strange part. The more you explain, the more you teach both of you that you need permission. Your partner didn't fall in love with a defendant. Some things don't need a reason. I wanted to. That's a complete sentence. And it lets them simply enjoy you.

Try it once. Next time they say: nice flowers, just say: thank you. And let that be enough. What would you do today without giving a reason?