'Pink' by Sherri Turner

It was the pinkness of it that attracted her. Brenda had seen others, of course, but none that had been this particular shade and tone - delicate, almost translucent, with just a hint of darkness where the edges curled over.  It brought to mind a Doric column carved from rose quartz. She wanted to touch it, smell it, examine its perfection, but she knew that she should not.  Not yet, at least. 

Brenda hesitated, thinking of her husband and what he would say. Surely he would forgive her once he understood. Hadn’t she told him of the many times she’d resisted temptation? He had generally just sniffed and returned to his paper, muttering. Was it any wonder her attention wandered? Everyone needed a hobby, after all.

She reached out her hand and fluttered her fingers down its length. She had to have it. She’d waited long enough.

Nancy, the assistant in the garden centre, had always preferred the blue ones. Still, each to their own and she liked to see a satisfied customer. This particular lady had been very taken with the pink delphinium. Strange how people saw things differently.  It reminded Nancy of a penis.