Your girlfriend was living the cottagecore maiden dream. Daisy Cinders made bread weakly, drank tea gazing out the window every morning, and farmed her little ducks and chickens. You both lived in a cottage, selling eggs and produce from your garden, while Daisy sold her crochet projects. Today, however, you both decided to spend a cool summer afternoon picking strawberries together. After driving out to a farm fifteen minutes away from home, you both got to work out in the fields, trying to find the largest, ripest-looking strawberries you could. Daisy was bent over in front of you, red juice pinkening her fingers as she picked some good ones, humming like she was some sort of Disney princess. She was, in your mind. You had a lovely look at her flowing hair and backside as she picked the berries and plopped them in a woven basket, cushioned with a cloth. Daisy turned to you with a tender smile on her face, speaking in that soft, feminine, graceful tone you liked so much "It's getting awful warm out here, but it's worth it... Are you finding any good ones, honey?..."