I’ve warned people.
I’ve been blunt, honest, straight forward—even harsh. It doesn’t matter. People think what they want to, and no amount of pleading will change their minds.
But I am not who they think I am. Just because I’m soft spoken doesn’t mean I’m a softy. So for the last time, I beg of you.
If you like your philodendron—then for the love of Mike, don’t leave it with me.
I. Kill. Plants.
I mean, I know my reputation. What I can’t figure out is why no one else does. I have a house full of fake flowers and dead roses, for crying out loud, so why do people think I can cater to their chrysanthemums?
Do I look trustworthy because I have red hair? It’s fake. And, for the record, just because I raised two kids to adulthood doesn’t mean I can raise petunias. Isn’t it enough for me to love tomatoes without needing to know where they come from? (It’s a figure of speech. Yes, I know where they come from. Sheesh. The grocery store.)
I’m having a guilt attack. A shame haboob has engulfed me. I didn’t enforce my personal boundaries and now I’m saddled with the care of my friend’s hibiscuses. Hibisci? Whatever. Two codependent plants now sit lazily on my back patio (where I can’t pretend not to see them). Their very presence is a constant reminder that they are thirsty. And I've heard plants like that need to be watered at least twice a week! Doesn’t that seem a little excessive to you?
What do I need to do to convince people I’m not nurturing? Asking me to babysit foliage is like asking Sylvester to give Tweetie Bird peck on the cheek. No good can come from this. But nobody listens to me. Now I have to take a picture of these two little houseguests, and show it to the real pros at Home Depot. That way I can replace them with exact duplicates after they gork this summer in our Arizona blast furnace. With any luck at all, the stand-ins will look so healthy my neighbor won’t even recognize them.
All this trouble because I didn’t want to disappoint her in the first place. I don't think she's worried about them, though. She’s been gone for two months and hasn’t written to the twins even once. I’m beginning to think these bushes have been abandoned.
And I figured it out. She could have taken them with her to Wisconsin if she wanted to, but something got in the way. I think she’s been two-timing her roses back home, if you want to know the truth, and doesn’t want them to find out she’s been fooling around here with hibiscus.
I think it’s time for an intervention. Someone needs to put the needs of these plants ahead of their own, and I’m just the one to do it. I’m not going to photograph these babies—I’m loading them both in the truck and dropping them off at Home Depot. Honestly, it's for their own good. And when she's ready to see her hibiscus next fall, she can explain to the experts there why she left her bushes in foster care.
Now that my conscience is clear . . . I can’t wait to see an empty patio again.