A few years back, I fell in love with this gorgeous guy that really loved his violets. He would water them just so, trim this, fertilize that. He was so proud of any new blooms. He'd show them off every time I came over and there was some tiny new thing. I never remembered what they looked like before, but I loved when he told me. It was adorkable. I enjoyed the dichotomy between brutish strong guy side, working on cars, hands beaten up and rough and the gentleness, propagating violets in his spare time.
Well the poor guy got thrips and we had to sit down and cut the blooms off each of his violets. He was so sad. I went to Meijer and found some scrapbook stickers that looked pretty similar to violets. I put them on little sticks and shoved them in the dirt. Of course he protested on the principle of being a male recipient of overpriced, cutesy, flower stickers. Even if he didn't admit it at the time, he liked it. He'd smile whenever he looked over at his violet table.
I said we should chuck them and buy new violets and judging by his reaction you might have thought I'd suggested purchasing a new family when you got tired of the old one. He made his best incredulous face and waved me off. He gets so excited about his violets I used to joke they were his kids. I'd refer to his daughters Violet, Violet and Violet. Well here we are two years later. He nursed them all back to health and this is the best bloom we have had. He has convinced them all to bloom simultaneously despite constant cat attacks.
He gets especially excited when they sparkle.