Jan 6, 2006

Herbology 101

There are times when I simply want to snap and start screaming, yelling, and in general I just want to be a complete arse to people.

We have a nurse here in the office who, in most respects, is just like anyone else, which is to say that she's fine as a coworker but I probably wouldn't cross the street to say 'hello.' A coworker, that's about it. That makes it particularly annoying when she decides to critique my plant-care techniques.

For Xmas, the CEO bought every employee in every office a little potted fir tree as a living gift, the idea being that you bring it home after a while and plant it in your yard. Very thoughtful, lovely gift, quite unexpected, and in general just a nice gesture. I've still got mine on the corner of my desk, situitated so that it can get a good dose of sunlight from the front windows and the door, and I keep it just a shade dry, because the last time I watered it, it got rather crispy, so apparently I had overwatered.

So what happens? Every time I turn around, this nurse is griping about how my plant is not doing well, is dry, is sickly, etc. QUITE annoying. Add in the little moues and faces and the 'ew, it's awfully dry' sort of stuff and it really genuinely gets my goat. Then we add into the mix her telling me about how she had this rare lemon cammomile something or other tree and how ultra rare it is, and how she's done this and that with plants, trying to impress me with her knowledge of common herbs, and I just want to knock the crap out of her.

And as an aside, let me tell you this--don't try to impress me by telling me how you got four transplants off one fig tree using Scotch tape. Uhm...unimpressive. I transplant my fig trees by pushing one branch down to the ground and laying a brick over it. Wait one season and the branch has already got roots. It's not rocket surgery. Hell, my father used to transplant fig and willow trees by cutting off a branch with his pocket knife. He'd whittle the stick's end to a point like he was sharpening a pencil, then he'd stick it in the ditchbank. At one point we had half a dozen willow trees lining our ditch, each about eight feet tall. Our thirty-foot high, forty-foot wide fig tree was planted in that exact manner, brought home from his parent's house in Mississippi. Get over yourself, you fat freak, it's not hard.

I have a problem, you see, with self-important people. You see, you silly bitch, I like plants a lot, too. I plant trees, and flowers, and I can even artfully arrange flowerbeds and gardens. Amazing. If you want to start talking smack, maybe you ought to check into who you're talking smack TO. Don't try to tell someone who loves plants how to take care of their plants, especially when you aren't all that.

It's time for some more rose beds.

2 comments:

Vulgar Wizard said...

She can't stand too close to her plants, because when she looks down, she can't see her feet. So, she has to stand at least five feet from anything she plants. She has no idea if they're healthy or not!

I got your goat, bub! Naaaaaaanny!

Irrelephant said...

Whoa! Goat!