I have ten rose bushes. Yes, Ten. Rose. Bushes. Ten separate bushes. Right after I graduated high school, my (future) husband and I rented a house with 4 friends. For some reason I took interest in caring for the yard that hadn’t been taken care of for ages. This included one very large rose bush that very badly needed pruning. I believe it took me two separate sessions to get that rose bush trimmed down to size and my hands were sad about it for a week.

Flash forward to now. I had noticed the rose bushes when we were looking at the house, but honestly didn’t really take much note of them. It was only after actually making an offer that I realized that this lady loooooved roses. It was my thorough plan to rip them all out the second I could because pruning them is such a pain. I thought to myself “I don’t even like roses, why would I put in all the effort to take care of them?” I’ve specifically said to my husband that he shouldn’t buy me roses because I don’t like them.

Then they bloomed.

Maybe I do like roses after all…