Meet Emma. She’s a florist with a bit of a Victorian view of the natural world. Each day she comes into her flower shop, turtleneck and a long skirt - no neck or ankle skin, thank you. She does not like to discuss any topic that may be considered…off-color. As she sets about her floral arranging, she is careful to avert her eyes from the flower’s stigma. She doesn’t care for the way it asserts itself. The pistil reminds her that she herself has a reproductive ovarian system within her and it makes her sick to her stomach. Don’t get her started on the stamen (because she would never discuss a perversion of that nature with anyone). Emma understands that reproduction must take place in order for her beloved flowers to propagate, but she cannot abide the prolific yellow abomination that currently blankets her car, her home, her clothes. It’s a disgusting display of love-making for the world to see! Last Christmas her well-intentioned niece gave her a Georgia O’Keefe coffee table book, and Emma became so aflame with embarrassment that she tripped over her long skirt and sprawled to the floor, exposing calf, in her haste to try and exit the room. She cannot make eye contact with orchids. Tulips require her to hum Happy Birthday repeatedly, lest certain bawdy jokes spring to mind unwillingly. Emma has 5 cats and she listens to Kiss From a Rose in the bathtub sometimes. 🌹 TAKE HER HOME!
