Dear Portland Area Florists,

Where the hell do you come from? Some kind of clear-skinned, svelte nature planet? I've been living here since before anyone would dare drive a Subaru down Alberta without the doors locked, much less park it and walk around, and every single florist—whether they work at a cart, a shop, or an incredibly overpriced grocery store—is freaking hot! What is it? Vitamins? Sunshine? Touching flowers?

Whatever you are all doing, it works. I've been crushing on you for decades. You are all fucking beautiful.