my husband's children have a dirty little secret

The little fuck monkeys blessed angels have done it again, they made me so pissy that I had to tell everyone that I’ve had a conversation with about it.

My sister – who can grow popsicle sticks – seriously, anything she sticks in the ground will grow, and bloom, and multiply, and grow larger, greener, bloomier, and with more babies than anyone elses… had to move a few years back – and I inherited her beautiful rose bushes (which I managed to keep alive, but they aren’t anything like when she had them and she would play Mozart for them and kiss them and tenderly dead-head them, and talk to them, and whatever it is she does – they are lucky that I have a drip system that waters them, and occasionally I run out and dead-head them (like twice a summer, instead of daily like her).

So one of these gorgeous wonderful fantastic bushes, is still blooming in spite of my neglect – ‘French Perfume’ variety – which means that it has the most outstanding fragrance – almost too strong – and these beautiful blooms on long stems that cut for bouquets just wonderfully (which I hesitate to do, lest my black thumb actually come in contact with the plant and it instantly whithers and dies). However, this morning I walked out my front door, coffee in hand, ready to drive to work and I looked over and the French Perfume was covered in beautiful blooms and I couldn’t resist – I had to have a bouquet for my desk at work.

So I walked into my kitchen to my junk drawer (I actually know a woman who does NOT HAVE a junk drawer in any room in her house – freakish that – I have one in EVERY room) – and I lifted the hot pads to put my hands on my rose clippers (very expensive lovely gift from my husband that actually thought having the right tool might make a difference for me – bless him) and THEY WEREN’T THERE. Now you know some teenager has been using them to trim toenails, cut baggie ties to build some sort of weapon, get into one of those fucking molded plastic packages that require a blow torch and safety gloves and glasses to get into, or even possibly as a substitute for a hammer, pliers, screwdriver, wedge, etc. – and that they did not put them back - there is also a good possibility that this mutilation of MY rose clippers took place outdoors (to prevent my snooping eyes from seeing) and they are probably somewhere rusting and covered with something nasty. So I grabbed kitchen shears – I wasn’t about to upset my lovely morning of cutting a bouquet to be sullied by actually finding out who/what/where my clippers were being abused.

Then I went to get a vase out of the buffet. I have probably 15 ‘utility’ vases – my father really likes to give flowers, I have a dancer who receives lots of flowers, and of course you need several colors, shapes, sizes to accommodate all this cut flower displaying. Don’t mistake this to mean we have cut flowers around all the time – we seldom do, and when we do, they generally stay in the vase until they are nearly unrecognizable dried up black and brown ghosts of their former selves, tucked in some corner where their height wasn’t disturbing someone’s conversation, homework, meal, etc. I also have a few expensive vases in the china hutch – these don’t actually get used – we used to have a cat, and after he broke a few vases, I learned that it isn’t practical to use the expensive ones with a cat in the house – the cat’s been dead now for about 5 years, but I haven’t changed that habit – also – whoever designs expensive vases doesn’t actually think about putting flowers in them – they are beautiful empty – but they are always the wrong shape to display a bouquet and look silly filled.

So… I went to get a utility vase out of the bottom of the buffet – you know in with all my “clean” dishes, that particular section of the buffet has the soup bowls, some platters, several dessert dishes, tea pots and some other sundry serving bowls, etc. -- AHA – that little glass one is just perfect for three blooms, that will leave several on the bush and look great on my desk – ewwwwwwwwww it’s got nasty brown old flower water ring around it. Set it on top of the buffet to take it to the kitchen for “re-cleaning” – AHA that milk glass one will be nice with 3 maybe 4 blooms, still leaving some on the bush, and will travel well in the car – ewwwwwwww nasty brown dried up water stain in the bottom, this was never washed, maybe someone couldn’t see it was dirty since it is milk glass – okay how about this tall glass one, that bush has long stems, ewwwwwwww nasty old flower stuff in the bottom – FIVE filthy nasty vases in my buffet with my clean dishes (well I didn’t actually confirm the dishes were clean) – and two more on the kitchen table --- I had only ONE vase that was even remotely the correct size and shape for this project – not to mention I was pissed as all get out about the dirty vases. But it was so wide that I had to cut every blossom off the bush to fill it enough not to look silly. Now what were those little lazy asses thinking, that I would never use another vase again? That they could fake me out by offering to put any flowers that came into the house into water? That they would remember later to take them all back out and clean them? Or did they even think – I’ll bet this was one of those “this kitchen had better be perfect when I get home or heads will roll” days – and it had to have been shortly after a ballet recital for there to be that many dirty vases – unless they have been doing this as a regular MO for months without even caring if there is ever a clean vase in the house.

So, I cut my roses with scissors, put them in a too large vase, brought them to work – wow does my car smell fragrant now – and told my boss, my mom, my husband – and now of course all of you – about the little dirty secret that my husband’s children have been hiding from me.

My husband does not have children with some other woman - I gave birth to all three of them - please don't be confused by my sarcastic implication that this is all his genetic influence