I tried to like roses for forever. Because I should. It’s the right thing to do – to be a girl who likes roses. It’s like saying please and thank you. It’s just the only correct thing to do.

And then I gave up. One night about 8 yrs ago. I gave up all pretense of liking roses. I’m not big on pretenses. And when I give them up, I tend to go ALL. OUT.

I really, really hate roses. The way they look, smell, petal arrangements, color choices, and nothing justifies those stupid thorns. I hate them. And their names are stupid, too.

Also? Tulips are underrated.

Mike knows I hate roses and only sends them to me when charities he supports sell them. And then we both know it’s for the charity and not for me and it’s perfectly fine and I wouldn’t be bothered by that because it’s Mike being charitable and I really, really like that about him. And he doesn’t mind whenever I get rid of them as soon as they’re delivered. It’s a perfectly wonderful agreement with no hard feelings.

The house we lived in before this one had a row of old, red rosebushes growing in front of a dilapidated white fence. I couldn’t decide which I loathed more – the pointless ‘decorative’ fence or the perfectly healthy rosebushes growing in front of it. I decided it was the roses.

I flooded their flowerbed for hours before dark. I got the kids in bed and when they were asleep, I went outside in my oldest tennis shoes and heaviest gloves. This was a highly premeditated act.

By the time Mike got home hours later, I had managed to pull up every last blooming rosebush and throw them into a pile in the front yard. And then I pulled up the falling down white fence. And added it to the pile. All that flowerbed flooding had made it pretty easy to pull them up, roots and all.

We were new to the neighborhood at the time. The front yard probably scared most of the neighbors into thinking we were a really bad addition to the street. And I don’t mind people thinking things like that about me at all, so I kinda enjoyed the sight of the destruction in the sunlight the next day.

Not long after that we met the nice couple across the street and he became our attorney.

But that had nothing to do with the roses.

That I know of.

I drove by that house not long ago and was SO mad. Those stupid roses waited until I moved across town before COMING BACK. Thorns and all.  I hate them. Even though that was pretty smart of them. To wait like that. I’d love to go rip them out again for the second time, but then I’d really need an attorney since that would be illegal and all.

So I won’t.

But I really hate them.