Prepare yourselves. Steel your sarcasm and keep your eye-rolling at bay. For I am about to impart a piece of wisdom as cliched – and generally absurd – as a pregnant woman’s waters breaking dramatically on the street at the climax of a movie. Friends, sometimes it really is the smallest things in life that bring the greatest joy. Cliched, yes but also true.
I’ve been taking time this week to literally smell the roses. Literally. As in bending over in my neighbours’ front yard, checking briefly that nobody is watching, before burying my head in the flower bush. Sure, I could use my own garden but then I’d be smelling neglected parsley or dead daffodils which don’t quite have the scent I’m chasing.
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