Late Bloomer

I was just working out. (Elliptificating!) I have, growing outside of my bedroom window, jasmine. I planted it there, and trained it around the window for this single purpose:

To lie in my bed, in clean white sheets, in the early spring, in the early morning and smell the jasmine scent blow through my window... eyes closed, arms thrown over my head, sheet bunched around my waist, slightly chilly breasts and utter, total contentment.

So, its not spring, and I live in a spot that is a little like the desert. Arid. I need to go out everyday and water or stuff will just die... or burst into flame. The jasmine is not blooming now. Stubborn little fuckers. But I am running along like a cardio-vascular goddess -- singing Nickelback at the top of my lungs -- when I look out the window and see a bud. A BUD. A hard little green bit of wonderful potential. It sits there, so out of place. Its an anachronism, this bud. But, if I do not get lax in my watering chores, it will burst (BURST) into glorious wonderful smelling bloom in a few short days.

That's me. I'm a late bloomer.