The Rose Story

When I was 21, I hitchhiked to Denver Colorado. Carrying everything I owned in my backpack, I arrived in the middle of a windy snowy April. My intentions were to set up camp in the mountains and live the "Rocky Mountain High". Hopefully, I would meet John Denver, and he would see what a wonderful girl I am and marry me. Don't laugh, I'm serious.
I soon found out that the Rockies aren't very hospitable mountains, and they don't allow homesteaders. The "pure" water coming down off the mountains has a bacteria that makes you sick, and there isn't much in the way of edible vegetation. Anyway, I digress.
I decided to find a job. I went to a Denny's restaurant to drink coffee and read the help-wanted ads, I found an advertisement for a live-in housekeeper/nanny. I called the number and had to wait all day for an interview. I met my potential employer at 6:00 that evening, on a Friday, and spelled out my entire story. I have good friends all over the United States, and I provided them with all the personal references they could possibly want. I'm sure they were a little freaked out by me. I mean: I just hitchhiked there, I loved John Denver, and I told the truth always to my own detriment. But they hired me anyway. Yeah, how many of YOU would hire a girl right off the streets to move into your house and take care of your 2 children? Anyway...
They couldn't pay much, but the room-and-board was worth it. They even loaned me a convertible pickup truck to run around on errands. I did a good job for them, they only took issue with my cooking. I burned everything - which was a direct result of my not knowing how to cook at elevation. And I deep-fried everything else, which is a direct result of my southern upbringing. They were yuppie-type no-sugar, no-fat, mineral water, organic, no-candy for the children, freaks. The children survived inspite of my sneaking them candybars.
When I finally moved on from that fortuitous situation, I got an apartment. North Havana in Aurora. I needed to get on my feet quickly, so I found three part-time jobs in a row. A city bus picked me up at my door, and delivered me straight to work at Johnnies Diner. Then picked me up again and dropped me off at NewYork Pizza Boys. Afterwards, I walked down to the SunSpa, a tanning salon, and closed it up. Then caught the bus back up to my apartment. I needed money badly, and the soles of my shoes were wearing off. I had rent to pay, plus deposits and I was in survival mode.
One day, I noticed that one particular customer at Johnnies Diner had been flirting with me for days, and I made a little time to chat. He asked me out for a date. I was interested, so we set a date for the following Sunday.
Sunday came, and I couldn't find anything to wear. All of my clothes smelled like a fast food restaurant and one of my shoes was flapping. The bottom had separated from the top of my shoes and they were "talking" as I walked. I worked myself up into hysterics, because I didn't have anything to wear on a date. The guy knocked on my door. I was about to tell him through the door that I came down with a bad allergy overnight and I'm sorry I can't make it, then I saw that he was holding a dozen long stemmed red roses. (The Big kind).
I answered the door, and when I saw the roses, my eyes squirted tears. In my shame, I got angry and started beating him with them. I told him it was a terrible thing, I'm working three jobs and trying to pay my bills and he's throwing a hundred dollars away on a bunch of dead flowers and I don't even have a pair of shoes to wear! (The old Hysterical Woman fit.)
So, the guy did the only decent thing he could've done. He took control of the situation, had me come with him to the store. He bought me a pair of tennis shoes, took me back to my apartment and dropped me off, then I never saw him again.

This is the story of the Roses. I have told this story to many people. It is the reason that any man who knows me will never buy me roses. Again, another situation where I tell the truth to my own detriment.

MsAmber