Hoppy Birdday
Plus, they’re my least favorite flower, famous at Italian funerals where men with too much Brylcreem in their hair and pinkie rings, send them.Β
Only in New York folks, only in New York.
This entry was posted in animals, Connecticut, Culture, food, humanity, humor, New York City, words and tagged Gladiolas, It's the thought that counts, Italian Funerals, Minature Poodles, New York City Fruit Vendors. Bookmark the permalink.
A birthday means you get to decide what happens to the flowers. Well done!
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They found their proper home, and she was so happy. PLUM HAPPY…:)
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I love gladiolas, but they hate my soil, sunlight, whatever, they won’t grow for me. They remind me of one of my aunts (Italian) who had a magnificent bed of them. I guess it’s all in what memory they hold.
I’m glad you had a hoppy birthday from the sugar plum fairy!
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I hope you’re not offended I dissed gladdies. I can’t help it. They bring back all those mawkish rituals I was weaned on. Nice that you have happier ones.
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We all have flowers that are our favorites and those we don’t care for. I’m not crazy about mums, especially lavender ones. I have no idea why.
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I won’t tell a soul…mums the word. π
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Hoppy Birdday! I laugh, just looking at that sincere wish for good things for you from Fruity. I can understand your relief and pleasure in regifting the glads. Bet that made the plums taste even better.
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I’m not a lover of inconvenience, meaning, having to somehow plop those stemmed showgirls in water left me swooning. I would have had to cut off their legs and that just didn’t seem right Anne. I’m certain, they’re still kicking up their heels alongside those pampered Poodles. π
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I hadn’t thought about the feelings of the flowers. I’m sure the glads were glad they didn’t have their legs cut off.
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Thanks for reading my latest attempt at entertainment since, it more or less bombed. I’m told I should have the same theme on designated days…History Monday…Fashion Thursday. But you know Anne, one of the joys of blogging is, you can write whatever happens to be tickling your fancy at the time, even if your fancy is the only one tickled. The Rogue Blogger π
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What??? I haven’t read comments yet. I am horrified. Writers write what they want, when they feel like it. Don’t put fences around us. Your muse is free to roam at will, and I for one, will always enjoy the result. Rise up, writers! Speak up for freedom of (Word) Press!
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I agree. We have enough shackles around us at the moment.
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A lot of laughs here, Susannah. Thanks.
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Perhaps one or two…:)
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π
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Hoppy Boifday!
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Yes, I’m right up there with the Sphinx, just without her following.
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Oh please. π
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The Sphinx is actually younger looking.
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Don’t make me come back there young lady!
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I so loved when Cuomo said that…DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE. π
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He has command of the English language like his old man once did. And he knows how to use it just the same. So really, when he and Trump kibitz, he’s playing Chess and Trump is playing Yahtzee.
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Trump couldn’t even play Yahtzee.
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That’s fine. He’d just buy Hasbro and then sell it for parts.
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That was a good one Mr. Imma.
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It’s what he does, divide and cheat on his taxes
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Poor Donald, having to deal with such things as legalities.
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Why do you think it took him so long to wear a mask? He thinks he’s immune to everything.
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It’s good for his campaign he’s finally realized. I’m do sick of him and his self absorbed ilk. Congress also. ME ME ME…US US US. I could vomit on command when I think of Donald Trump, Mitch Mcconnell, and Nancy Pelosi.
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It’s all about the sell with him, always has been.
As for big league politics, it oftentimes behaves like little league baseball. Check that, at least in little league baseball they stick to the rules.
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And they’re cute.
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