My Affair With Flowers
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 …