It’s a tale as old as time. Girl grows up. Girl decides on a favorite flower. Happiness ensues. Haven’t you read that Grimm tale? Just kidding because if this were a Grimm tale, girl would end up dead. So let’s just say it’s time to choose a favorite flower because that seems adult and easy (and how many times do those two go together?).
Daisies are beautiful, cheap, and VASTLY SUPERIOR to carnations. You can make a crown with them or one of those fancy balls on pinterest. If you go barefoot and stick them in your hair, you may or may not be transformed into a fairy, and fairies are pretty amazing little things, sometimes portrayed by Julia Roberts in film. I’m glad we got that cleared up.
Our second contender is the yellow rose. Why the yellow rose? Because it means friendship and gladness. Isn’t that lovely? *Big sigh* I’m so very thankful for my dear friends (family included) and the gladness they bring me. The con to a yellow rose is its inability to last. I find I can only explain how the sadness of the yellow rose’s fault affects me in haiku form:
“On sunny petal
brown begins to show on edge
Oh no no no no”
Let’s go to the ball game. What are we bringing? Sunflower seeds. Oh, yeah, salty sunflower seeds, the most frustratingly delicious snack around. I also just like sunflowers when they’re whole. Why? They’re tall, strong, and beautiful. They’re the Wonder Woman of flowers. They also mean happiness… I’m noticing a pattern. I like happy, yellow things. There’s nothing wrong with that. (I think there might be something wrong with that.)
My last choice is the underdog. It’s not really a flower… it’s more of a weed. And I just found out it’s actual name is limestone hawksbeard. I have no idea what this weed symbolizes, but weeds are resilient. And this little guy is close to my heart because I used to pick them each year, make mom put them in her best vase, and watch as they got their weediness (<–this is a real word) all over the counter, which she loved.
So now it’s time for the real drama: what flower to choose. I suppose I will probably go with my patch of daisies, mostly because I envision myself dawdling along a seaside cliff picking the ethereal little flowers as I lose track of time. However, I also have to respect that although ten-year-old me shared the same vision, I made do with a light stomp in the backyard around the lake, pulling little weeds with beard in the title. Oh, how I love those weeds, that backyard, that lake. If I had to pick, I’d go with that weird weed every day of the week.