Another year, another bunch of flowers. And by no means are flowers bad, but you can do better. Things get taken for granted, petrol station flowers become a default. She complains to her girlfriends about the lack of thought you put into the fact she’s bringing up your little humans. Girlfriends tell her it’s not on. She starts to think they are right. You come home a day after the Mother’s Day and get a tirade of abuse, but you cannot puzzle why and what it is you’ve done wrong. You blame it on some shit like PMS. Things get swept under the carpet after a couple of days and life goes on. Mehness and vanilla days take over, and she’s fine now. Till next year.