flower power

mila and I met with a florist recently. she was a lovely woman, though, as florists are wont to do, she kept rhapsodizing about more and more exotic blooms:

"really, we're just looking for something simple. think dahlia, not dendrobium," said simon, in a rare fit of fiscal responsibility.
"okay... I think one of my suppliers can get in some lotus flowers hand picked by a monk who lives on mount fuji."
"sounds beautiful, but seriously, no monks, okay?"
"I think he might be on vacation anyway. I'll look into it," promised the florist.

a few days later we get an email:

"good news! the monk's away, but I found an icelandic peasant who dabbles in rare wildflowers. he's already started scouring the fields. or fjords. do they have fjords in iceland? really not sure. anyway, hope you're having a great week! talk to you soon!"

mila and I are both alarmed, and mila instructs me to email the florist immediately to tell her to control herself, before she mails sven his deposit of two goats and a bag of rubies. the florist gets back to us in record time, letting us know that she is only looking into such exotic blooms for mila's bouquet, which, after all, ought to be special and unique.

"perfectly reasonable!" concluded an appeased mila, as she signed away the food budget. "carry on."