Asked how my mister makes me feel loved, I was flummoxed. Especially when asked in a group setting at church. Yipes. The first thought to pop into my head was, and I kid you not--- "Delicate Flower". Despite a sometimes prickly exterior, the mister refers to me as, ahem, "Delicate Flower". It's both hilarious and utterly charming, and it is this very sort of goofy charm coupled with good manners that really speaks to me. The doors opened. The reminder to our teen son and his buddies that, "There are ladies present," when they get a little rowdy or their language becomes especially colorful. And the silly pet name that really ought to make me cringe, but instead makes me laugh.
While there are those who would claim that my mister marginalizes me by carrying my suitcase, protecting my, er... delicate sensibilities, or opening doors for me, the reality is that he knows full well that I am capable of looking after myself and have likely said worse than the young teens can come up with at their worst. There is a tenderness in all that special treatment. Something that not only implies a vulnerability, but which actually allows it. Vulnerability that will not be taken advantage of or mocked, but protected and nurtured. And that is beyond precious.