My favourite flower (which I might also beat-up)

Posted: March 20, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sunflowers.

The same flower that every single child draws when they draw a flower.

The most undeniable of flowers – they shall not be denied.

When a sunflower is put to you (and I can only imagine having a sunflower ‘put to you’ amounts to one being waggled and smushed in your face) – you’ve got no choice but to acknowledge that flower.

It’s not the most floral of flowers, nor the most flowery, but it the most ‘flower’ of flowers. The capo dei capi of flowers.

I love ’em.

I love ’em so much I abbreviate “them“.

I love the fact that a field of ’em wake up, as the sun comes out, and they worship it adoringly as it dawns and sets across the sky.

And then they droop all depressed-like, when the sun is replaced by a grey day.

They emit a lot of differing moods, from glorious, shining pride to “oh no it’s cloudy”.

There’s a lot to love about ’em.

But how would you feel if a sunflower suddenly looked at you?

You’re sitting on a bench in the park one evening, and along comes an enormous sunflower.

It sits next to you.

You decide to be cool about it. It’s just a sunflower, no prejudices from your side, it’s probably a decent flower in its own way.

And then it snaps its head sideways to look right at you.

Staring deep into your soul.

So deep into your soul, that your soul is technically your genitals.

Putting up with that, are you? Or are you going to smash its face is and shove its petals up its rootholes.

Sure, it might be a sunflower and you know it might have its own problems going on, but staring at you to the point of molestation is a step too far, and it still hasn’t broken eye contact.

So you stand, and so does the sunflower. This escalated wordlessly and the pair of you are ready for action.

You wallop it.

And nothing proceeds to happen.

And then nothing proceeds to happen again.

So you give it another go, knuckling the sunflower right between where its eyes would be.

And slowly, a trickle of sunflower oil comes from where its nose would be, and it wipes it away and brandishes its tiny little leafy arms up into little green fists.

It takes a step closer.

And it sunflowers you.

It sunflowers the shit out of you.

No, I don’t know what that means either but going by what I’m feeling, and what you’re probably feeling too, it’s likely to be fairly unpleasant if you suffer from hay fever.

Hay fever that gives you a brain bleed.

There’s only one option.

Your brolly.

Naturally, you’d considered whipping this out earlier, but that was on the basis of battering the sunflower about the stem and petals with it.

Judging by the lack of success punching it had, assault with a brolly won’t weather much better, so that’s out of the question.

What’s in the question though, is photosynthesis. A lot of it.

You unfurl your umbrella and hold it over the sunflower’s head.

A moment of confusion follows, and then surely enough it begins to droop.

Congratulations, you’ve just depressed a flower.

Vincent Van Gogh might have appreciated, as I do, the glory of a sunflower, but we simply got to make sure they know their place and don’t get too big for their pots.

Sunflowers.

I love ’em.

Fuck ’em.

Sam