A Rose by Any Other Name

I got a rose today. My lovely transsexual wife, Angela, who used to be my husband, David, delivered it. It was 4 p.m., and she was coming in from working in her shop (that's another story for another day). I was feeding the baby when Angela approached with a large grin on her face and her arm behind her back. I was expecting to see an "ouchie," because she is always turning up with minor injuries from doing something she should have asked for help to accomplish. Instead, she brought her hand around and put a rose on my knee. "I brought you a blood red rose," she said. "Red for my heart's love of you." She's a sweetheart, that's for sure, and I'm sure glad she made the switch from he to she. Just like the Grinch, her heart grew many sizes as she became a woman. The rose is probably the last rose we'll have this winter. It's in a bowl on the kitchen bar now, so we can enjoy it together for the next few days. It's beautiful, but no less so than she is. Not bad for a couple that have been married forty-one years (and counting).