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Confession of a Serial Plant Killer
Repotted Post from the Cellar.
This is the third day of my incarceration at a maximum-security garden center.
The florist glares at me from behind a bouquet of roses armed with tiny Samurai spikes. And she thinks I’m the dangerous one. I think we’re both the same, but she’d disagree. She cuts off the stems of plants. I cut off their heads. They look better that way.
If only I didn’t get caught decapitating a purple begonia in my neighbor’s yard. I didn’t see the camera hidden in the Lawn Gnome’s hat. I never liked Lawn Gnomes with their evil little grins and pointy heads.
At least I had the pleasure of seeing its head drop in the dirt before the plant police hauled me away.
They picked me up just a little past noon while I plotted my next crime, kidnapping an Orchid from a greenhouse. The ransom money would have paid for an electric hedge cutter I’d been saving up to buy.
Damn Lawn Gnome!
The foliage cops came for me while I stood in my garage holding a plastic bag and roll of duct tape. They were dressed in green jumpsuits and drove a golf cart with a bonsai planter on the roof.
I tried to hold them off with a tomato plant duster, but they restrained my wrists with garden twist ties then perp walked me down the driveway.
As the wind picked up, I heard a broken shutter bang against the siding. It reminded me of a snare drum at an execution, although in my daydream I was the executioner and lopped off the heads of flowers with a guillotine.
The horticultural shrink asked me why I enjoyed killing plants. Of course, she had her own theory. She thought it had something to do with the first time I got poison Ivy. I scratched for days and had to go to school covered with calamine lotion.
The kids called me pinko the clown and threw erasers at me. The chalk dust stuck to the calamine on my arms and legs, the spots alternated from pink to yellow. I looked like a walking board game.
But it wasn’t the poison ivy. The shrink was wrong; they always dig too deep into the dirt for answers and just wind up with mud. It was far less complicated than that. It was lime Jell-O in fact.
I was forced to eat the quivering green goop when I was a kid. My mother said that it was good for me because it was green like the grass. Just looking at the stuff made me retch. But she made me eat it any way, as she knelt by the garden shoving plants into the dirt.
So, I gagged on lime Jell-O, as she buried flowers in their makeshift graves, keeping their psychotropic heads above ground facing sky, while my face pointed toward mother earth; I gave up another cup of Jell-O into a 12-inch pot.
That’s why I did it, because of the lime Jell-O and all the hype about photosynthesis, which has nothing to do with cameras and everything to do with sunlight. I’d rather bag the remains of a rotting plant than upchuck one more cup of lime Jell-O.
But that’s a conversation for another day with the horticultural shrink.
Do you kill plants? Do you prefer death by drowning, mutilation or dehydration?
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Oh dear. Please stay away from my plants. They don’t need any help dying around here in the newly created desert of Texas.
What about lime jello with marshmallows? I’m sure that will make it all better.
Ugh.
Sorry I’ve been MIA lately. I’ve been stuck in a Jello mold on earth . . . like the office.
Maybe I should have buried the plants in Jello and marshmallows.
Texas definitely needs an uber hydration.
Hi Lauren,
There you are! So a gnome turned you in? I feel so misled. Our garden center implied that deadheading was a good thing. Before you know it, you will be implicated in the deflowering of your yard too. Make sure you recruit Thumbelina to your cause. She can probably stop that gnome from throwing you into a pile of manure!
Deadheading, yes. Not liveheading. I wonder if dog poop is as good as manure.
I have three plants I have kept alive for a few years. All the others have died. Fortunately, we don’t have any gnomes in the neighborhood!
That’s an amazing accomplishment, keeping plants alive for several years. I killed a plant that my brother told me could not be killed. I do better with the plastic ones.
Gnomes are scary. Like clowns just with gnome faces.
There’s a horror fick in there someplace I’m sure (-:
The gnomes just need a tricycle, a volkswagen and big floppy shoes. I’m ready to write a horror flick that’s less scary than CNN.
I hope everything is well and that you survived the hurricane without any damage.
The description of the calamine lotion had me losing fluids from all orifices. You are one funny broad. As for the plants, when I was moving in I put them all outside will I could make room and, having them indoor plants their entire lives, they fried in the hot sun. I’m nursing their shriveled little bodies back to life now, but I sense a great resentment and our relationship will probably never be the same.
LOL! I think your plants will be less resentful once they start getting a regular fix of H2O. Glad the Calamine lotion elicited that response. Though it sounds gnarly. So, glad your posting again. I’ve got to get off my butt and get into a blogging routine. I’m writing a book, so that’s been taking up a chunk of my time.
A book! Now that’s impressive. Good for you. Time well spent, my friend.
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I tried to hold them off with a tomato plant duster… MY FAVORITE LINE LOL!!!!!
Thanks!!!!!
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