as little girls, when we pick up a flower like the one above, somewhere along the lines, we’re taught to pick the petals and say, “he loves me. he loves me not.” hoping the whole time that the last flower proves the object of our little girl affection “loves me.” never in this scenario did our mothers teach us to pull a petal off the flower and say, “do we have something in common? do i love him? will he make me happy? do we share the same goals?” and so on and so forth, you get the point.
is this (and so many other “lies told to little girls”) the 