I called him Pete. He was left in my care by an all-too-optimistic friend. She told me he wouldn’t be any trouble. She said she trusted me to watch over him. “Just put him in the bathroom and he’ll be fine,” she said. “Even you can’t kill him.” She was wrong. Pete the supposedly Cindy-proof houseplant isn’t looking very sprightly. I blame the margaritas. Not that I gave him any margaritas – even I know that houseplants shouldn’t drink tequila. But I’d acquired Pete one balmy summer evening during a girl’s night in the Great Gazebo in our backyard. The fruity drinks flowed and apparently lulled my friend Beth into believing that I would be a trustworthy caretaker for her plant/Cindy Hval, SR Front Porch. More here.
- Also by Cindy: No doubt in their minds/SR Love Stories
Question: Do house plants thrive or die in your care?