I kill plants

I like plants. Unfortunately for them, they don’t cry when they are hungry, or wake me up when they need to go outside, or do anything really attention-grabbing, so they go unnoticed by me. My very few attempts at plant husbandry have gone, well, not so good.

Me: Check out my new bedspread!
Roommate: Cool, it goes really well with the dried grasses you have artfully arranged on your windowsill.
Me: Dried grasses? Hmm, I guess I have been less than diligent in my watering duties.

Which brings me to my point. I don’t do office plants. I don’t need a dead plant screaming to my co-workers about my lack of attention to detail. It just doesn’t look good. The Boss’ wife works in the department next to mine, and one day she came out of The Boss’ office and asked me if I had watered his plants recently. I thought I had misheard her. Watered his plants? Is that code for something? Then my supervisor told me that the lady who worked in my position before me always watered The Boss’ plants. Wow. Did she also pre-chew his food for him?

I have enough email to answer blogs to read things to do at work without babysitting someone elses’ plants. I mean, come on. I don’t expect The Boss to let my dogs out on his lunch break.

Co-workers will make the plant-watering rounds, asking me if I have any plants that need watering. Nope. Do I think The Boss’ plants need watering? Maybe; I know I haven’t watered them. I fantasize daily about peeing on them or spraying them with Round Up (the plants, not my co-workers). Let me reiterate: I like plants. I just don’t like the way they silently judge me as they slowly wilt and turn brown.

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