I don't get flowers very often. That's okay; I'm not complaining. I just kill them anyway. I wasn't born with a green thumb.
When I do get flowers it is very special. Valentine's Day this year was one of hose time. The Good Doctor gave me a dozen roses, 1/2 red because that's what you're supposed to do and 1/2 pink because that was his poor college go-to (baby pink roses). Baby pink roses remain my favorite roses to this day.
So imagine my surprise when I came home to find one flower missing. Is nothing of mine sacred around here? I quickly found the missing rose. It was in a vase by itself, proudly soaking up blue water. But the culprit was yet to be found.
I started checking with the usual suspects. They claimed it wasn't them. I was stumped.
Thankfully it was a snow day so I had more time with the list of suspects. At lunch I mentioned the missing rose.
One child immediately looked sheepish and the words came out in a rush, "I was looking at your roses and remembered how when we were little you used to put flowers in colored water to turn them into different colors..."
Those were Queen Anne's Lace flowers that we picked along the road.
"Oh."
Is nothing of mine sacred around here?
For the first time in her life, Mariana was speechless.
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