me: Ah, the travails a girl must endure for her daintiness.
girl: Aww. Dainty is a cute word. Like a daisy.
me: Yes, exactly, a daisy. A sweet little flower in a meadow; slender, vibrant, blooming. Then ripped from her roots by a hand that casts a shadow across the whole of earth, a hand that fondles and spins her before stuffing her in a dark place. Before spiriting her away to a new home, a home made of walls and locks and boxes and limits that were the opposite of the meadow. A home where she sits even now, shriveling in a bath in the cold light of a suddenly distant sun, cut off from everything that ever grounded her… just so some selfish man could have something pretty to look at around the house.