You'll notice that you don't see roses on here often. I'm not very fond of them - I joke with D that if he ever brings home a dozen red roses I'll know that we have to break up immediately, because they are so not me.
But frilly garden roses with actual scent and non-uniform shapes? Those get me. They are real roses, heavy with full blown, droopy petals, perfect for gathering by the armful and carrying in from the garden, treacherous with thorns and spiky dark green leaves.
They're hard to find (unless you are blessed with space for your own rose garden) so when I saw a small bucket of these sitting off in a corner at the farmer's market this weekend, I quickly snatched them up. I could only afford three, but the saleslady nodded knowingly, said, I'd take quality over quantity any day. We exchanged sage smiles. I left the neat bundles of roses by the dozen, buds tightly shaped, each one identical, without a second glance, clutching my precious paper wrapped trio with gnarled, thorny stems, inhaling deeply.