I spotted her pouting face among the pots of generic shrub roses at the local Home Depot. The sultry red petals, the sassy curves of her stems. I slipped a hand into her dewy foliage to check the tag: Rosa ‘Dolly Parton’. Figures. A hybrid tea. What was a dame like her doing in a joint like this?
“What’s a dame like you doing in a joint like this?”
She didn’t answer. A petulant little thing. But I couldn’t take my eyes off her voluptuous blooms.
“I’ll be you’re a lotta trouble, eh Doll?” I said, taking a closer look. Yup. Already a hint of black spot. Traces of rust. And leggy. Sooo leggy.
I should’ve just walked away. Yeah, I knew better. But a hybrid tea like her doesn’t just drop into your life everyday, not with giant corollas like that.
The dame was coming home with me.
Thanks to the poet Charles Goodrich and Garden Rant for introducing me to this genre.