Being Female · Hubby

Buy Me a Rose….

Last Saturday night the hubby and I ended up at a Kenny Rogers concert.

It's a long story how we got there but I was happy, in a nerdy way, because I actually like country music.

Yep, I can sing along with most of what Kenny sings.

One of the songs he came out with in the 90's is a ballad called, Buy Me a Rose.

It's basically a song letting men know that if they really want to please their wives they should stop buying them stuff and just pay a little more attention to them.

Let me share with you a few of the lyrics:

'He works hard to give her all he thinks she wants
A three car garage, her own credit cards
he pulls in late to wake her up with a kiss goodnight
if he could only read her mind she'd say:

Buy me a rose, call me from work,
open a door for me, what would it hurt?
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes
these are the little things I need the most in my life.'

It's a very sweet and romantic ballad. 

And as Kenny sang this song, I turned in the dark to my husband to maybe try and hold his hand or share a kiss.

But, I quickly realized that there would be no romantic moment between my husband and myself right then, because he was busy

– texting work.



4 thoughts on “Buy Me a Rose….

  1. I love Kenny. I grew up listening to Kenny. He’s still got it (though why did he have to tweak his face so?).
    I’d try again for that kiss tonight, you know, after your husband’s phone falls into the toilet…wink, wink.


  2. This could so easily be me and mine. Not that I could get mine to go to a Kenny concert. He dismisses 98% of country music as “twang” and refuses to sit still for it.
    Regarding Kenny–I am a closet Kenny fan from way back. He had this song (which I’m not sure was ever realeased as a single) called “Scarlet Fever” about a hapless fool who falls in love with a stripper. I’ve always had a real soft spot for that song and recently put it on a mixed CD I was listening to while baking one Saturday afternoon. Here comes 18-year-old Daughter Only and she says indignantly, “Mom! This is a song about a pedophile!” I start to sputter and deny and then she sings back to me this line: “She looked twenty-five but I was told she was just 16.” Hmmmph. I had to admit she was a teeny bit right. She took no end of delight in that, let me tell you.


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