When I was a hot, happening teen in the late 70s and early 80s, I had plants in my room. Oh yeah baby, I had plants. I had an African violet, a Christmas cactus, spider plants — those super cool plants that would grow more spider plants and hung from sweet jute macrame plant hangers. I had a jade plant and some kind of airy fern thing. Back then it was cool to have a room full of plants and I had yet to discover that I actually love gardening and growing things outside where they belong.
I can’t stand house plants.
While my mom was sick but still quite lucid, she told me I had to keep her houseplant. Gah…. I hate houseplants. But what am I going to do? Death bed request from my mother: “Maggie you have got to take that plant, your father brought it to the hospital the day you were born.” Oh jeeezzze, no gettin’ around that. So I have the damn plant in my bathroom.
Here’s a little tour of my bathroom decor:
I watered the damn thing this morning and water went all over the floor so that’s why that towel is there. See the little pot to the left of the plant that now holds pretty boxes of matches? That is what the plant originally came in. You know what kind of plant this is? It is an Agave americana. Or a 100 year plant. 100 years. You know what that means? Annie? Brigid? Here’s your house plant. heh heh heh