Daisies

I don't care for roses. I think they are overrated and overpriced. They are showy and intense, heavily accented with romance and expectations. Of course, I think it also has to do with my tendency to reject traditional or popular things. Roses just aren't me.

I like daisies. Not the wild African Daisies Mom grew in our front yard. Not the big brilliantly colored Gerber daisies my roommate used to bring home from her job at the florist. Not even the cute little Blackfoot Daisies I planted in the tree ring out front. I like the common Shasta Daisy.

Plain, white, simple, elegant, and sweet. Quiet, unpretentious, pure, peaceful, and carefree. Springy, refreshing, clean, young, and full of life. I've been told they are hardy, even if I have not yet been successful in getting them to grow in my backyard. They don't have the delicious smell of a jasmine, nor do they have the stench of a marigold. It's just beautiful in its lighthearted, sunny simplicity. Seeing daisies always makes me smile.

Maybe it all started from the poster "Be Your Own Kind of Beautiful" that I saw as a young girl.  The roses in the original poster looked drab and unimpressive, especially next to the brilliant and amazing daisy in the middle.  But even if the roses were full and ostentatious surrounding an ordinary little daisy, I think I'd still go for the common flower.  Maybe I could identify with the message because I was the little wallflower no one ever noticed.  Or maybe I just didn't want to be like all the other glamorous girls.  I wasn't a pretty princess and never felt like I was anything like the others.  And that was okay; I am me.

On our first Valentine's Day together, knowing I didn't want him to spend lots of money on expensive roses I didn't much care for, Rex bought me a bouquet of daisies. The florist couldn't believe he wasn't buying roses for his sweetheart, so she threw in a single one for free. I came home and found a vase of daisies surrounding one rose in the middle of our nearly bare apartment. It was perfect.  As the polar opposite of the poster I saw as a girl, the daisies still outshone the rose.  I may be presumptuous in comparing myself to the stunning daisy, but I am certainly no rose and never wanted to be.  Nine out of Ten would choose the rose, but that special One spotted the quiet little daisy and saw it for what it was.