I have a really bad habit of personifying inanimate objects. Cars, technological things (although I swear, office copy machines and printers have a personal vendetta against me…no really), toasters, the ingredients for my meals, anything is fair game.
In my defense, at least this time it’s a living thing.
This is my houseplant. I named her Molly (explanation behind that coming soon to a blog near you).
Almost immediately upon moving into my new abode, I knew it needed a friendly touch. The kind of friendly touch that can only be provided by another living thing. Like a fish, or a hamster, or in a perfect world where money was no object and pets never get sick, a dog. However, as my lease specifically states all animals are off limits (probably for the best), I had to either start naming the moths that like to fly through my unscreened windows at night, or buy a plant.
So, here you have it. It’s mildly frightening how quickly I’ve become attached to little Molly here. I mean, despite the fact that my mother has the greenest of green thumbs and can revive any plant no matter how near death it might be, I’m not so certain I inherited any of that gardener sensibility. Hence, the possibility of outright, botanical disaster is totally viable here.
In an effort to stave off any such disaster, I’ve been extremely diligent in watering her every night, and moving her to the sunniest portion of my studio first thing in the morning. And I do mean first thing. I wake up, and before washing my face, or eating breakfast, or doing anything for my own personal benefit, I go pick up Molly from her nightly roost in the kitchen, and move her to the open window at the front of the studio.
Then of course, once I get home from work, it’s a nice thirst-quenching watering fiesta, followed by a return to her other window in the kitchen. The one with the nice view.
So, there are the facts. I bought a houseplant. And named it Molly. Feel free to judge as you see fit.
On a related note, how does one program the speed dial on the phone for when I inevitably fumble Molly right out of her screen-less perch, she plunges two stories below, and I have to make an emergency call to my mother so she can rush right over to resuscitate the poor thing? Anyone?
Um…dear…wondering why you feel Molly needs a change of scenery every night. Or watering every day. LOL…oops, sorry…I was laughing WITH you, dear, not AT you. Really.
Yeah, yeah, sure you were. How would you feel if you had to look at the same view every day?!
Really though, the window in the kitchen doesn’t get enough light, so that explains move number one. Move number two is mostly because the kitchen counter seems more secure from my klutziness. As for the watering…..no comment!