I've come to appreciate a bouquet of roses. For the longest time, I was like, roses? They're pretty and all, but so are lots of other things like clean floors I don't have to sweep dead rose petals from. And thorns are poiky. (That's pronounced like boy-key. It's a technical term meaning "owwwww I pierced my thumb.") But I was shopping for groceries the day before Easter, feeling mighty fine. Spring had sprung and I'd just finished a morning full of yard work. A purple hyacinth had magically appeared in my shopping cart, 50 percent off. A few minutes after I picked up that pot, I passed the display of bouquets and noticed a small but pristine bunch of roses for just $4. Why not? I asked myself. I've been given a single rose just once or twice, and got a bouquet no more than that. There were rarely any flowers inside my house growing up - my mom is allergic to pretty much everything. I simply had no idea what a bouquet sitting on the din