Today I picked up a small book on the Language of Flowers. It was originally a present from "Father" to "Mother"--handwritten, rather poorly, and with marginal illustrations. It is remarkably charming, but contains a number of items I had not imagined would be part of a bouquet or corsage:
Mustard Seed: Indifference
It's the Language of Salad! I could compose a very nasty note from those ingredients.