I’m going to let you be privy to a romantic conversation between myself and my darling, sweet husband. He called me a flower, which is all well and good but then he chose to expand his metaphor.
Apparently I’m a dandelion. His reason for choosing this flower? (It’s not usually very high on the list of either romantic things to compare one’s sweetheart to or the gardener’s favourite blooms, you must admit.)
“You see one growing in your grass and you think, oh no! there’s a dandelion coming up! It’s really annoying. But then it flowers and it’s kind of pretty so you decide to tolerate it growing there in the middle of the grass. Even though it’s still rather annoying.”