Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Beauty is a Biotch
Ahhhhh, a rose. So magnificent, so captivating... so diva! The rose is in full revolt. That tempermental little biotch isn't taking kindly the news that I've found her a new home. Those grand dames are never pleased to leave the lime light. But when you don't perform... It's straight to the back yard with you.
Sometimes the sun stops shining on your stage and you are forced to persue new venue. It's not like you're Dame Joan Sutherland.
I was warned that a move would be met with opposition. I just didn't realize she'd rather die than reach her full potential. I'm telling you the instant I started digging her up she started to wilt. And even with the most nurturing of transports she is looking pretty sick. Sourpuss.
At one point I actually started talking to her. "Let go," I whispered as I tugged at the whispery fine roots entwined in the sacred dirt of the showcase flowerbed up front. But rather than unfurling in consent, I swear they tightened their grip. And so with a swift tug I ripped her out of the bed and rushed her to a new home chanting, "Don't hate me. It's for the best."
To add insult to injury I planted a flower I have pined for in her spot. Though it's against my better judgement I planted a dream I've carried across years and oceans -- the hydrangea. The new star will probably die. Because they are just obstinate.
But I have hope for my old rose. Come on old girl. I promise, it is for the best.