Rose War

My hands and arms are covered with tiny stab wounds. It was without provocation that the roses attacked me. That's what I hate about roses. If you get anywhere near them, they jump out and stab you with their sharp, nasty thorns.

I wouldn't have them at all if there was much choice, but there isn't much else that is so easy to grow and blooms nearly year round. Being a nurse, it is especially important to keep my skin intact. Skin is pretty much the only thing standing between me and certain death from a deadly assortment of microbes looking for new digs.

I'm not nearly done working on the rose beds and it is tempting at times like this to just get rid of all of them. Until I'm done, I'm going to be walking around looking like I have been in a cat fight. Why does something so pretty and easy have to be so difficult?