A little wink here. A coy glance over there.   So, yes, I’ve had an odd relationship with flowers.  Both from real-life as well as sartorial perspectives but start the post rolling, I’ll address the former first. When I was much younger, in my pursuit to completely strain against the rules of conventionality, I made a conscious decision to dislike anything society typically adores embraces.  Things such as twinsets (even dresses at one point), court shoes, jeans, pearls, and, yes, roses.  Particularly the red ones.  I pooh poohed them.  I tsk tsked them.  Then as my age increased, that streak of rebellion eased up a wee bit.  I decided twinsets weren’t all that bad so long as they veered on the side of hipster and preppy, collegiate even, as versus grannies, mothballs, and kerchiefs.  I began wearing (some) dresses.  Jeans too. I EVEN FOUND BLACK OR BLUE ROSES APPEALING Although, to this day, I still hate pearls.  And you’ll never catch me in a pair of court shoes. At this juncture, I feel compelled to …