Spring is magical.
It’s also highly sexual, but for some reason the pinks, whites and purples of the season don’t quite mix with the overtly randy and hormone-laden overtones that are in display pretty much everywhere.
And I do mean everywhere.
There is nothing quite like the sudden and overwhelming display of flower sex organs all over the place to get people in a good mood. Do you think people would be grossed out if they stopped to realize that those lovely things we give so freely as tokens of esteem and love, and which grace porches and patios and all manner of pots and beds are the plant equivalents of tiny penises and scrota and vaginas and ovaries and sperm, sperm, sperm?
Would you be offended if the doctor told you that you seem to be allergic to tree semen?
Would you suddenly get grossed out and feel like a janitor at an adult theater when you have to dust off the delicate trails of pollen left behind by a lily, perhaps?
Would it make you feel gross if I called it plant jizz then?
Imagine getting a letter from your botanically-inspired sweetie that read thusly:
Oh, my darling! I love you so much! Please accept this humble gift of fourteen (remember, at Safeway a baker’s dozen is FOURTEEN!) rose ovaries! Every time you sniff that delicious rose scent from what could be conceived to be the labia of the darling little things, please do think of me.
Come on, people! Flowers are total sluts who are into bestiality! Helloooooo, bees? BIRDS?!
And people get grossed out about whale vomit. Tsk, tsk, tsk.
P.S. From Urban Dictionary
the state of being very attracted to a person, obsession often mistaken for love
i know we’ve only been talking for 2 hours, but you’ve got me sprung
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