Incurring numerous cuts and permanent spine damage, I managed to get it into the back seat of my suddenly "uneconomical, inconvenient, ridiculous, and worst-decision-of-my-life 2-door coupe" to haul it back home. The plant was so heavy and awkward to carry I had to resort to a korean grandma kimchi squat with a sideways waddle, and endure the pokes of its lethally sharp pseudo-exotic leaves into my eyeballs as I made my way to the front door in three step increments, the whole time praying for invisibility from all witnesses.
After the theatrics of getting my plant indoors, I was excited to begin this new adventure of plant-growing. Who knew? Maybe I had the elusive green-thumb, a hidden skill and capacity for horticulture passed down from generation to generation from a long line of South Korean farmers. I was going to be so good at this that my home was going to turn into not only an indoor botanical garden, but a freaking
jungle with trees and vines and wild birds flying through my open window just to perch on them. It was going to be that awesome.
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| That jungle is so awesome |
People were going to look at my plant-raising skills and say, "wow, she's a good wife." Don't ask how that even makes sense. Nevertheless, I tended to my plant eagerly with this vision of complete success, and hopes of much good-wife kudos.
But whatever fumes were emanating from the Yucca plant made me develop delusions of grandeur. I boasted enthusiastically to hubby that I knew by way of zen, chi, feng shui, karma, or
tae bo tai chi- what my plant needed, how much, and when, from where, by whom, and why. I also scoffed heartily at the notion of reading
instructions on how to care for something as
easy and
novice as a mere
simple house plant. A tinkle of water here, a smattering of sunlight there- soon
The Circle of Life song was echoing through my head all day long (see
The Lion King).
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| I will now attempt telepathic communication |
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| Your plant leaves tickle my nose and bring a smile to my face |
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| This color looks great on you, plant! |
But then, completely unexpectedly, my plant- lost- its- mojo. I cursed the evil gnomes (surely they were the cause) as I witnessed my exotic plant leaves wilting and dying before my very eyes. I absolutely could not allow such an atrocity to exist, especially in lieu of my new found inner monk/baboon. So I disposed of the offensive leaves immediately. All of them. Pretty soon I realized that my look-alike exotic-tropical Ikea-n plant was now very obviously short one too many leaves. Finding a more flattering, less bare position was not feasible no matter which way I turned it. Alas, my plant had become a stick with a few pathetic, sickly leaves dangling off of it by the time I was done with it.
Searching deep within my mother-nature instincts, I sought out an answer. More frequent waterings were initiated, with longer sun exposure times, and faster, higher-pitched Circle of Life repetitions in my head.
Eventually (around the time there were 2 brown leaves left on my entire plant), the weeks of self-denial shattered like young Simba's heart when his father, Mufasa, was killed in the stampede due to Simba's own foolishness. I panicked, wailed a pitiful tune to hubby, and resorted to my online resource for everything- Google. Researching extensively about my plant's symptoms, I was hard-pressed to find a proper diagnosis in order to remedy my quickly dissolving confidence, pride, and failure to my South Korean farmer ancestry.
This is also how I learned about horrible, grotesque rotting plant diseases.
Feeling as if my plant could erupt in pustules at any moment, I put this dying/diseased/mold and worm-infected plant out onto the balcony. I developed mental images of it giving birth to spiders and centipedes and velociraptors which would devour my rotting corpse of a plant, mutate a brain of sorts, and overtake its roots to carry out an evil master plan against its incompetent owner.
I was so horrified I refused to look outside at my failure for one whole year. The later it got into the year, the more I was convinced that it was a monstrosity of epic proportions I would have to call in an exterminator for. Preferably someone equipped with a ginormous
flame thrower.
Eventually I garnered enough courage to venture outside into my self-induced nightmare- to observe the very plant I had left to fend for itself against the elements- the very plant I had left alone to basically grow its 5 mutated heads then wither and
die before it could kill me in my sleep.
Instead it had the audacity to grow new, young, green, spiky leaves.
I quote myself: "This plant could basically thrive on its own in a secluded desert cave."
I give up. From now on out... fake plants.
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| Fake Ikea plant |
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| Fake grass pen holder |
