I didn’t want to write this post. Really, I didn’t.
I’ve resisted as long as I could and they’ve just worn me down with their whining and nagging and moaning.
My flowers are furious; They look pretty and dainty and harmless . . . don’t be fooled. They are relentless.
They demand equal time! They point out that everybody else’s flowers have been featured on the internet, that they are every bit as attractive, and, dammit, they want their moment in the spotlight.
The irises are irate.
The viburnum are threatening violence.
The lilies of the valley lament and lament and lament. All those tiny little voices, lamenting. Oy.
The hostas are downright hostile.
Catnip is caterwauling, under its protective armor to keep the cats from nipping it down to nothingness.
Peonies are pouting, again. They’re not at their best yet but they remember a successful protest from years ago, and they are emboldened.
So, my apologies for a post full of familiar flowers. I don’t even know all their names and it occurs to me that some may be weeds. I simply don’t care anymore. I just want them to stop their belly aching!
And please, whatever you do, don’t tell them they’re pretty!