Today I Killed The Fairy.

First you have to understand the love-hate relationship I have with The Fairy.

There are pros and cons to it.

Pro: It's a beautiful shrubby rose with glossy green leaves and when it blooms, it is covered with beautiful tiny blooms.

Con: They are pink.

Pro: But they're beautiful.

Con: But it blooms once a year and then you're left with leaves.

Pro: But they are pretty and glossy green.

By the way. That is not a picture of my The Fairy. Mine is bigger and when it blooms it's solid pink. I do not lie. Solid pink with blooms. So honestly, what is my problem with it?

Con: IT HAS NO FRAGRANCE.

A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet? Not The Fairy.

And another con: It has a stupid name. The Fairy. How awkward is that? "I'd like to buy a The Fairy." Bugger that.

So today as we raked out ten big black bags of leaves from our flowerbeds to put out by the curb for pickup, I decided to be ruthless and take the clippers to The Fairy because she was so overgrown and dense with thorns and stickers I couldn't get to the leaves.

Mind you, I've always been glad for an excuse to avoid any raking possible in years past, but today I felt a surge of something ... something mean.

And I decided to cut the damn The Fairy back if it killed it. Then I thought, hey, maybe it will! And I can put a nice smelly rose there! And I started hacking and cutting and raking and cutting and hacking until I was left with a very uneven bunch of sticks.

But deep down I'm afraid The Fairy will live to bloom and not smell another day.

In brighter news, we rescued a pair of hedgehogs from deep within The (evil) Fairy's thorny grasp:



By the way, do ten big black bags filled with leaves and debris from the flowerbeds zero out the one big black bag I resolved to throw out of my house yesterday?

I didn't think so.