Dear Mother Nature,
Despite the obvious similarities (sunny disposition, delicacy, a tendency to overdress), I am not a flower. I do not need to be pollinated. Please stop. As flattered as I am by your attention, it is sadly misdirected. I will never give birth to a pine tree. I will never bear strawberries. And chartreuse is not a good color for me.
I have pollen in my hair. It is on my clothes. I have smudges in unflattering places where the larger parts of me brushed up against the car. I do not need to accentuate these larger parts with a yellow highlighter.
The big chunk of black metal in the driveway? It's not a flower either. It is my car. I admit it's hard to tell, since it looks more like a gigantic ball of yellow lint, but it is a car, not an overgrown gorse bush.
Please redirect your attentions to my vegetable garden, which needs all the help it can get. My beets, for instance, have gone missing. I swear they were coming up, and then there were none. They're like the characters of an Agatha Christie novel, if Agatha Christie wrote about murdered vegetables. Because I do suspect foul play.
Not fowl play. The girls have been under lock and key. I suspect other family members - specifically the family members who do not like beets. There are two people living here who may very well be going out at night and stomping on the areas around the beet markers. I need to switch my garden markers around. I will plant kale and mark it as beets. I can't stand kale.
I'm sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. Did I say I can't stand kale? I love kale. Nice job on the kale. Please don't extend pollen season.
It is hard enough to keep the house hosed off without coating my windows and covering my floors with yellow dust. It used to be that the dining room floor was covered in cereal and ants. Now the ants are tracking pollen into the far reaches of the house. Again: unnecessary. I have killed all my houseplants and we have neutered all the household pets.
Oh, pines are incapable of impregnating house cats? Stop looking at me like I'm an idiot. You're the one trying to knock up my cat.