Say it with flowers (the Courtesan's Way)

As the weather is still cold and grey, my camellia sits on the balcony and sulks.
She wears cap and gloves, looks prim and tight lipped, and avoids eye-contact.
I say "Well, missus - than I will visit your sisters."
Meaning: I slip into the mollifying warmth of the conservatories of Berlin's Botanical Garden.

The tropical hothouses I shun: too damp and oppressive the heat there - no, I'm definitely not made for a tropic life, no Qui-hi! for me - but the camellias' hothouse is kept at a pleasant temperature.
Of course: Like master, like man (you can confidently use the female form here): my cammellia and I thrive on praise, so I will tell my homely friend neither of the tallness nor the sheer abundance of red, pink or white blossoms there - it might discourage us her.
Did you know that the great botanist Carl von Linné 1753 gave that plant its name after the Czech
Jesuit Georg Joseph Kamel (1661 - 1706)?

 

Camellias don't overpour you with scent - that's why Alexandre Dumas' "Lady of the Camellias" choose them (in real life she was Alphonsine Plessis) - and as most women she was multitasking: she wore a red camellia signaling her lovers: "Bad time - I'm menstruating" or white: "Hurray - the coast is clear!" 
Hope the weather permits my camellia to come out soon - being perfect the way we are, we walk on a confusing wild side.