Play Misty for Me
Yes, they were mistflowers (and darned proud of it), but they were tired of hearing their neighbors say “Play Misty for me,” recalling the old Clint Eastwood film, every time the wind blew their pollen a different direction . . .
Don’t Touch Me!
Gloria knew intellectually that bees and insects were necessary to ensure pollination and thus guarantee future generations of her kind, but those tickling little feet just drove her around the bend. Why couldn’t they just hover like humming birds? . . . . David, Sf.G.