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"No," I said.
"No what?"
"I don't want to pick one, at least not yet."
Andrea and I were standing next to the flower bed adjacent to the elementary school playground.
"Why not?" she said, "you could give it to a girl, or to your mother."
"Perhaps," I said, "but pansies aren't exactly the most impressive flowers to give as gifts." I said this primarily because the shape formed by the petals of a pansy reminded me of a pug's face.
"You could pick a hyacinth instead."
"They're not ready yet," I said, "They won't bloom until at least a month from now."
"Oh, ok," she said, dejectedly.
"Don't worry," I said, patting her on the head, "I won't let Mrs. Jenkins' flowers go to waste. Run along and play with Sarah and Emily."
"They're on the jungle gym though, and I'm afraid of heights."
"There's no shame in standing on the ground, go and play," I said.
As she scampered away to meet her friends, I thought about how Mrs. Jenkins, every day upon leaving the school, told me I was welcome to pick her flowers. "They don't do any good here," she always said, "sittin' here bein' pretty an' all. I figure the children here don't appreciate them much anyhow. I knows you got some pretty girl to give 'em to."