For an easy $8 and an hour of your time, you can tour through the San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers. There are over 2,000 varieties of flowers and plants tucked away in this nearly 140-year-old Golden Gate Park greenhouse.
A few friends and I recently embarked on a quiet adventure at the conservatory on a stunningly sunny day in the city. While I was nestled among the hushed throngs of palms and orchids, all I could think about was dicks—literally and figuratively. Here are the men who came to mind:
The mechanic and wannabe street racer
You kept your hair long and swept to the side. Your question, “Do you want to cuddle?” was accompanied by an entire head-and-shoulder convulsion as you flipped your hair from your eyes.
Short, closed-off and not as advertised
This plant’s plaque said that it was a pomegranate. Your OkCupid profile said you looked like Diego Luna. I also bet this flower would be better at returning my texts.
Wide open
That evening, you shared everything from your intimate personal problems to the “best way” to eat chicken. I had the same reaction to you that I did to this plant — a sudden jolt of shock followed by a very uncomfortable need to make something in the area close for just a second.
The flower that smells like death
It took you 7–10 years to finally open up, and when we got there, you smelled like death, caused a lot of commotion and left me feeling disappointed. Petition to replace “fuckboi” with “corpse flower.”
You creeped in the background for so long…
…before you dropped a midnight Facebook message entailing what you’d like to do to me. You don’t even get to be a flower.
You wore flannel or stripes almost every day in high school
My 16-year-old self thought it made you look rugged despite your inability to grow a beard.
You know who you are
Good God, do I miss you.
