Raphael and Gabby came rushing into the house, talking over one another, breathless in their excitement to tell me:
“These are for you, Mama! We picked them in the field! Aren’t they pretty? Just look at all the colors!”
They thrust a wildflower bouquet into my hands and stepped back, grinning with anticipation. The flowers were pretty. They were a bright assortment of orange, purple, and yellow delicately framed with green leaves. They were dewy moist from the recent rainfall and seemed almost to glow in the morning sunshine.
But just as I was beginning to wonder how professional florists can get away with charging $80 for a dozen roses when this kind of beauty can be gathered for free from my backyard, I realized that the lovely “natural” bouquet was … dripping a foul-smelling substance down the length of my arm.
Gotta love these wildflowers with their creative natural defenses and all. I dumped the bouquet into a vase which I deposited in the bathroom, next to a can of Lysol. And now I am scrubbing my arm. And watching for a rash.