I kill green things.
Really, I kill anything of any color if it has a root system.
Part of my issue is most likely a combination of laziness and a detestation of all work gardening related, but part of it is certainly just my inability to maintain life of the Chlorophyllic type.
I’m pretty sure that the desolate situation that is my landscaping ability greatly embarrasses my mom – that or she just has a strong sense of pity on my neighbors – because every now and then, she will bring living things over to my house and plant them in what others would probably consider gardening space.
I am then overcome with a deep shame when those items that she lovingly planted for me die tortuously within days.
However, I recently tried to overcome my lacking in this department – on a very, very small scale.
My super-cool friends, Angie and Trish of Birmingham Mommy, invited me to a Mommy’s Night Out at Dreamcakes Bakery a couple of months ago. It was awesomely fun – there were free cupcakes as far as the eye could see, yummy mexican dips of which I didn’t count the calories, lots of other cool moms, door prizes, and lots of free stuff.
(I’m sure that most of you could tell me exactly what type of plant this is, but since me and plants aren’t exactly on speaking terms, I don’t know many of their names.)
When Chris saw my loot, he was impressed. When he saw my cute tiny plant, he laughed.
“What? Surely I can take care of one tiny plant!”
“Seriously? You’re going to try and keep it alive?”
“Yes! It’s cute and tiny and my friend. I’m going to take care of it.”
It was cute, but mostly my desire to make it live came from my strong sense of guilt about being entrusted with this plant’s life. Angie and Trish would weep huge tears of crocodile if I were to carelessly disregard this tender shoot…
So I set it in the kitchen window, right above the sink. That way, I would be reminded daily to water it, and I would have all of 4 inches to move it to make that happen.
But somehow, my lack of the Plant Care Gene made me only notice it’s poor, starving leaves when it would begin to die.
So it would die, then I would water it, and it would miraculously revive.
I actually found my ability to grant the miracle of resurrected life kind of fun, so me and the plant began playing this “die, live, die, live” game over and over.
(This did not help my speaking terms situation with plants in general.)
Then I noticed something odd – the cute, tiny little terracotta pot started looking dirty.
Weird, since I hadn’t been letting my plant play outdoors.
Then… the dirtiness began to grow fuzz.
That’s right, friends, I molded a pot.
I fully expected to kill the plant, but the POT???
My tiny, adorable plant is now using it’s pot to send out spores of nast into my sink, my food, my kids, and probably even my fridge every time I open it.
Obviously, this was revenge for our little game.
This terrible tragedy, of course, flooded back the traumatic memories of 2010’s gaggably moldy pumpkins …
And I knew it just wasn’t meant to be. Any relationship between me and things that grow in the ground, used to grow in the ground, or grow in pots will never work, no matter how cute and tiny they are.
My deepest apologies go out to Trish and Angie, and my sincerest condolences to the plant and its pot of nast that now lives on my porch, where it will surely die.