Something comes over the residents of the nation’s capital when the flowers bloom in the spring: The urge to steal them.
My wife and I became aware of this seasonal problem when we first moved to Washington. The capital’s anal retentiveness toward its wide, barren sidewalks was beginning to change.
First, the city fathers began approving licenses for sidewalk cafés. Heretofore, they had been banned by the tight coterie of Southern congressman who ran the city and believed that while copious quantities of bourbon were good for them and the legislative process, the general public should have access to strong drink only in the most parsimonious quantities and under the most inconvenient circumstances.