When I was little, I used to think that flowers were the magickal houses where fairies were born. What else could make such a beautiful home? Fairies had their tiny fairy families, grew up until they were old enough to fly off and inhabit another plant, and then built a new flower palace somewhere else. There was no other explanation. It made absolute sense to me then.
Of course, I know better now. Science classes and adulthood have taught me that flowers are the reproductive organs of plants. Fairies may not be born through these beautiful specimens, but other plants certainly are. Flowers are how certain plants do the hanky panky. There’s a very intricate process by which flowers will bump their metaphorical nether bits. And get this! They usually invite a third party to come in and join their sexing. Bumblebees bring on the bacchanal. If you’ve ever wanted to see a crazy orgy, just look around during springtime. That yellow dust all over your car? Semen.
I don’t care how freaky you think you are in the sheets, flowers have got you beat by a long shot.
Whether you prescribe to something along the fairy house line of thought or go straight science, only one solid conclusion can be drawn regarding flowers: they are entirely inappropriate Mother’s Day gifts.
Think about all of those fairies you’ve displaced by cutting down their home. Or the tiny fae families you’ve managed to break up. How will they ever find one another again with no address other than ‘Generic Cheap Vase?’ They won’t! By giving a bouquet of flowers as a gift, you are robbing fairy mothers of the chance to bring baby fairies into this world. What the hell kind of Mother’s Day message is that?
Here you go, Mommy. Isn’t it pretty? I wanted you to have this bloody bouquet of 20 different demolished fairy dreams! Their hopes and livelihoods are crushed in there as well. Many lives were lost, and the fae’s orphan population has nearly doubled. I love you!
And for those of you with the more scientific mindset, think of it this way. On Mother’s Day morning, you bring your mommy some breakfast in bed. The tray is loaded full with pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, orange juice, the whole bit. And what breakfast in bed would be complete without a tiny bouquet of colorful penises and vaginas on the bedside table? Look at that big purple one sticking up in the back! It just seems to pull the whole moment together.
Who knew genitalia could make a room smell so wonderful?
On top of the fact that you’ve now handed your mother a basket of schlongs and woo woos, your purchasing the arrangement funds the continued genocide of innocent flowering plants everywhere. Floral departments around the world are all smiling as you present your mama with their well crafted displays of genital mutilation.
Might I suggest you save yourself the ridiculous expenditure next year and just give your mom a hug? That way you can hold on to your $30, take your mom out to dinner, and save her the task of throwing out shriveled plant gonads when they die in a week.
I think that would be best.