Lock me up, I’ve killed again!
As you can see by the condition of my once-lovely ranunculus, I am atrociously bad with plants. Over the past few years, I’ve tried in vain to find one that doesn’t hate me with every fiber of his little green being, but it seems like an impossible task. Basil, parsley, geraniums, tulips, succulents – no matter what it is, its leaves start shriveling up the second they come through the front door.
And I swear I’m not a negligent plant parent! I talk to them, give them plenty of water, and lug them up to the rooftop when I’m worried they don’t get enough sunlight in the apartment. I even sprinkle bits of eggshells in the soil for a nutritious snack, but nothing seems to be effective against my mighty black thumb.
I really should just accept this fact of life and invest in some plastic flowers, but I can’t help bringing new ones home with the stubborn hopes that things will be different this time. My photo should be sent to flower shops in the entire neighborhood so they can lock their doors when I come prowling around, in search of new victims to bring back to my lair of doom.