Let's see, since this happened a good 28 years ago, I will try to remember. The things that I considered the most romantic probably wouldn't even make a whisper on the Richter Scale for most people, but they meant a lot to me just the same. I found simple, thoughtful gestures romantic. I loved it when he thought enough of me to hold a door open for me or pull a chair out for me (I always said thank you, and I meant it). He always walked on the curb side of the street (I guess that's supposed to protect the lady from being splashed by passing cars). He always gave me at least a single red rose on special occasions (although I explained to him more than once that he could give me a handful of dandelions and I'd be happy, but he refused; It had to be roses). I always paid attention to what he liked. I knew how to make his iced tea just perfect, and I always had a glass waiting for him when he came in from working out in the yard. One day he mentioned how much he liked those TV crosswords in the paper. I bought him a book of puzzles and left them on his pillow for him. He brought it into the kitchen and waved it in my face. "What the hell is this?" "TV Crosswords. You said the other day that you really liked them, so I picked a book of them up for you." "What are you wasting your money for?" he said as he discarded the book on the table in disgust. That really stung. Try to do something nice…needless to say, that relationship didn't last.

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