So when hubby comes home, brandishing a big bouquet of flowers, I tell him with appropriate gratitude: Thank you honey. Now put them in a vase please.'
Then hubby throws them into the sink and mumbles something along the lines of: 'I'll do it later.' And by later he means: next year, or when he feels like it, whichever comes first. Which is usually 'next year'.
So then I'll have to heave myself off the couch, to rescue my flowers from a horrible death by thirst.
I'll get the big butcher knife, and start sawing away at the stems, because obviously, I'm not going to do them one by one! That would take forever. As soon as I'm done I'll plonk the vase on a table, and quickly run back to the couch.
When the world still turned in As The World Turns, they had the right idea: bouquets were presented in a vase, with a neat bow tied around it. It required no action on the part of the recipient whatsoever.
Nevertheless, when Barbra Streisand moaned: 'You don't bring me flowers anymore', she probably had only herself to blame.
Like I do.