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If every woman is a flower, just like Madam Georgia O'Keefe keeps saying/painting (over and over... gotta love her persistence), then we're each a different kind, right?

There's the roses, the dream chicks, the ones guys seem to trip over their tongues for, the ones poetry was invented for. We're talkin' Helen of Troy. Juliet Capulet. Estella from Great Expectations. Every movie star from 1930 to 1960. (After Twiggy, it seems people started going for gladiolas instead of roses.) They come equipped with thorns, and them bumblebees just love to risk it. Then they can spend years nursing their scars and sharing their stories.

There are the lilies, the rare exotic exciting ones, the ones guys call a Challenge. They're like moonlight, you know? Beautiful, distant, and unique. Don't have to describe them much, because just like how lilies come in so many forms and colors, every guy's idea of his lily is different. Exotic for Peter is normal for Pi�rre, you know?

There's all kinds of gradients in between, like narcissus (do I really need to explain those girls? They're rose wanna-bes) that look pretty but wind up smelling like pee (they do), there are the daisies which are endlessly cute and need protecting, there are the carnations which are safe and pretty and specialize in mass appeal without too much risk.

Guess I'm a dandelion, though. Though they're common in the real world, among girls they're a rare breed. They're bright and try too hard, they're annoying as hell if you want to get rid of them (just ask Charlie Brown), they're pretty and even if you shave off a dozen petals she'll shine brightly and offer more, because there's always more. Let them sit too long and they start to grow thistles; they get prickly and desperate and discouraged and eventually just blow away entirely.

I think I'm about to blow away entirely.

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