The first time I got flowers I was thirteen. Movies had told me that this was some kind of romantic gesture but my reaction was more along the lines of “You gave me a bunch of dead plants. And they’re pink. Do you even know me?”
After that, I realized that it was in my best interest to set gift guidelines. Generally speaking, I don’t want to receive any. It’s much easier on both parties if I am not placed in a situation where I will not like a gift, which is likely. I will reject something if I don’t like it and there’s a good chance I’ll reject the giver too. Still, there have been fools who were dead set on giving me something, so the first exception to the rule for many years was to get me the only thing I’d definitely love: cigarettes. Barring that, something edible that I could enjoy and then not have to keep was the only other option.
Decades after the first debacle, a third possibility has appeared. Edible things that look like flowers but don’t aggravate my allergies!
I’d gladly accept a dozen of these lovely artichokes, trimmed to maximize beauty and ease of consumption, instead of their unpalatable brethren.