Spring is here, and plant love (pollen) is in the air

So this post is a little late because if you've been paying attention then you already know that it has been spring for well over a month. The cherry blossoms are gone, the daffodils are dead, and the crush of DC tourists has subsided until June when they will return in all their FBI-fanny-packed-glory. Yet I know it is still spring because the soaring pollen count is finally getting to me, high school baseball is in full swing, and every day is humidity-free and gorgeous.

But I know that summer must be right around the corner because the plant porn going on outside is winding down now that the azaleas are blooming. Spring is nothing but a nonstop mother-nature sex-show, punctuated by birds chirping the bird-equivalent of 'shake it mami!' And azaleas are the orgasm of that triple xxx show. They are the spectacular end to the all spring blooming flowers. They blossom just as other flowers are beginning to die and everything else is turning green, and they burst onto the scene with the most spectacular day-glo fuschia and pink colors that put all the other flowers to shame. Just looking at azaleas gives me a headache thinking about all the energy the plant had to use to create those crazy colors. And those brighter-than Barbie pinks all have trashy stripper (if flowers were strippers...) names like 'lace cap,' 'satin robe,' and 'purdey.' But that's why I love the azaleas -- though their beauty is undeniable they lack any subtlety. They are the trashily-hot girl who shows up two hours late to the party, already drunk and ready to make out. Sure, everyone says they like cherry blossoms, the cute, church-going girl who doesn't drink and never lets anyone past first base. But really, which would you rather have in your front yard?