Photographic Poppycock

We were flipping through some of my aunt’s pictures with Ian the other night, when a long string of floral pictures came up.
“What’s with all the flowers?” he asked. I relished in the way his sentences dripped with Irish dryness.
“They’re so pretty!” was my aunt’s reply.
“But they’re just flowers!” he exclaimed. “Can’t you just go and look at them outside?”
“Ian Rudyard! Just… just look!” she playfully protested. Ian shook his head, laughing to himself. A few slides later, a purple blossom came up, its five long, rounded petals splayed in every direction. Ian groaned. My aunt took this opportunity to try and redeem her cause.
“See, doesn’t that look beautiful? You can see all the veins!”
In his thick Irish accent, he replied frankly, “It looks like an octopus!”

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