May 24 2006
But who will water the plant?
I kill plants. I am a plant murderer. I have done complete genocides on huge numbers of houseplants. Some of them are relatives of the plants that still live at my dad’s house and my sister’s house. When I’m over there, I have to be careful of what I say because I don’t want them to know I’ve killed their offspring. They may plan some sort of Audrey II Revolution against me.
Occasionally, I’ll get all ambitious and swear I can do it, I can keep them alive, and I’ll go out and buy a bunch (usually when we’re having company the next day… people needn’t know about my evil, killing ways… they need to be duped into thinking I am Martha Stewart with lovely houseplants scattered about my home). Mere weeks later, they die.
Last Tuesday, the Girl Scout leaders of my daughter’s troop gave me a ‘thank you’ plant because I helped out a little bit this past year. Twelve minutes after coming through my front door, it was dead.
I know, I know. It’s a gift. An evil, awful, dark gift.
Only? There is this one plant that I’ve had since 1985. I kid you not. It’s this big ass elephant-ear leaf looking thing and I honestly think it’s in LOVE with me because I can do no wrong where it is concerned. My plant and I have been together longer than my husband and I and really longer than I’ve been with any of my kids (if you consider how the big ones LEFT me just as soon as they were old enough to, like, paint the house and stuff).
That plant saw me through a divorce. It didn’t judge me when I brought others into my bed. It moved with me FIVE times. Supported me through several job changes. Forgave me for leaving it out after the first hard freeze of the winter of its discontent (circa 1993).
My plant. Plantie. (Oh. My. God. Did I just call my plant ‘Plantie’???)
So we’re leaving on vacation on Friday (and by ‘we’, I mean my HUMAN family) and I’m wondering, is it ridiculously funny to ask someone to come over to water the plant? I mean, people frequently have others come to water their plants, plural, multiples, but it just seems kind of pathetic if there is only one plant, uno, singular. Besides, this thing is UNKILLABLE, right?
I suppose I’ll just over-water it as usual and then proceed to ignore it ruthlessly for several weeks, even after we return, and then feel guilty and give it seven of those plant-spike-food things to make up for my guilt. In other words, Plantie won’t even notice anything is different.
Then again, it’s been such a loyal and true companion, I’m thinking I’ll take it to Florida with me. Just me and Plantie on the beach, sitting quietly. No back talk. No asking me to “Watch, watch me, watch me again, hang on I messed up watch me now, no, now, you missed it, watch now, can I have a nice Hawaiian Punch and some rainbow Goldfish crackers?”
And just think about the ride down. A plant doesn’t even ask ONCE “Are we THERE yet?” I don’t need to buy it any activity books. I don’t need to stop every 20 minutes for pee breaks. My plant would let me sleep late on my vacation and allow me unfettered silence while we both bask in the sun, me reading my book, sipping my pina colada.
My best friend, my PLANT, would give me the space I need.
Fuck Florida. I’m staying home with my plant.
