Thursday, March 12, 2009

Some Flowery Prose

So we were at lunch today at the pizza place which keeps expanding even though it would have gone out of business long ago if life was fair. It's too loud for conversations, the service is just sort of okay, it's a little expensive, and the food just isn't that good. (And yet, I was eating there for lunch, supporting the place...) Anyhow, the back room had a large party and multiple people showed up with store-packaged cut flowers, so we started listing the ways that flowers were a metaphor for life:

- You grow for a while, then someone comes along and chops you off at the roots.
- Just when you start to blossom, you're killed.
- After that, you just start to stink.

Then I came home tonight and realized that the daffodils in the front yard are blooming. My friend Charlotte stealth-planted them four years ago for my birthday. I haven't done anything to take care of the bulbs, and they look better every year.

There just might be a metaphor in the daffodils, too.


Eric said...

So the moral of the story is "Be a daffodil, not a rose."

Theresa B (of Nebulopathy) said...

I think they were lilies, or something exotic that is drenched with pesticides, refrigerated, and flown in from Central America. Nothing says I love you quite like a flower dripping malathion.