Thursday, June 29, 2006

 

Fake plastic trees

Dear vacationing co-worker,

In spite of the yellow post-it note you slapped on my computer and the note I left myself on my desk calendar, I didn’t remember to water your plants. Until Thursday. It is a miracle I remembered to do it at all. *nervous laugh* But I did. This morning. And everything seems to be okay. Really.

I probably should have disclosed that I’m a plant killer from way back. House plants left in my care tend to die slow, miserable, thirsty deaths. After my husband’s accident, I managed to kill all but one of the plants that he brought home from the hospital. This includes a cactus. No, really. I killed. A cactus. It just doesn’t occur to me to water plants. Sometimes I go for days without checking on the cat to make sure she has food and water. Heck, it’s probably a good thing my daughter isn’t too interested in the whole eating thing, because it is quite possible I’d eventually forget to slip her an occasional cheese cube or raisin or spoonful of yogurt, given enough time.

So, I should have been honest with you the day you popped in from the other side of my cubicle last week to ask this small favor. Just water your plants. How hard could that be? My slight hesitation (which I was using to evaluate whether I could in fact remember to water the plants while you were away. In Alaska. ) should have been a red flag. And I guess you picked up on it, because you hurriedly told me that you could get someone else to do it, no big deal. But, no. No, I insisted. I wanted to prove to myself that I COULD, in fact, do this. A plant could be left in my care and live. And I was going to do it at the expense of the two lovely, thriving plants nestled on your window sill. Which are FINE. Because I watered them.

So, how was Alaska?

Comments:
I got so excited about my rose bush blooming that I forgot all about my trusty indoor plants. They're looking pretty sad this week. :(

Does Iris not beg you for food twenty times a day? If I even open a bag of croutons, Shiva runs to the kitchen, full of the hope that the rustling she hears is either her cat food or kitty treats.
 
Iris doesn't talk to me, even when she's hungry. She'd rather walk around the house wasting away than utter one, solitary mew to get food and/or water.
 
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