Henry brought me home some flowers earlier this week.
He'd picked them on the preschool playground, placed them in his zippered backpack where they remained for a few hours, before he transported them home and lovingly presented them to me. "Here you go, HONEY!" he yelled. "These beeuteful flowahs are for my beeuteful Honey! Now, Honey? Honey? Kiss me on the LIPS!"
The next day he brought me home another bouquet and the root base was even larger.