About a month ago, my mother, who is eternally optimistic that one day I'll be able to keep plants for an extended period of time without killing them, gave me a little potted plant with pink flowers. I think she said it was an azalea.
I took it to work with me, and it sat somewhat happily on my windowsill, and the plant and I maintained a cordial sort of relationship. I'd forget about it for a while, and it would start to droop a little bit, so I'd dump in some water from my water bottle, or the leftover ice from my diet coke, and it would perk right up again.
It seemed happy, and I was happy that it wasn't just up and dying.
Yesterday, here in Seattle, the weather was nice and springlike, as befitted the second day of spring. So when I got into work, I opened my window up, to let the nice fresh spring air in.
I was doing this and that, and walking back and forth from my desk, when suddenly, disaster struck.
It might have been a horrible accident, or an act of jealously by the vase of bamboo, or maybe, too distraught by too many ice cubes, it was a suicide. I'm not sure exactly. I don't remember feeling anything as I walked back to my desk, passing between the edge of my desk and the windowsill on the way to my chair.
What I do know is that I heard something that made me turn, and when I looked, there was no sign of my little pink potted plant. I stuck my head out the window, and looked down onto the 10th floor roof, and sure enough, there it was. It was horrible; it had spilled out of the pot and was strewn all over the rooftop.
Poor little pink plant.
Posted by Rachel at March 23, 2004 09:35 PMI told you that you cannot keep a plant alive!
I'll tell you what:
a. stop buying plants that you KNOW that you will kill and
b. I'll stop harrassing you about how you murder plants.
capishe?