11222017Headline:

Unhappy Plants

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I think I’ve figured out why the fake plant is dying.

Balding and sad, the source of the living room’s right corner palm tree’s malaise seems to be the children picking its leaves off and stabbing each other with them.

Shocking. I know. The fact I own two fake palm trees usually catches most people off guard.

“Two?” They say.

I nod. “Two.”

“But you know nothing about plants.”

Indignation doesn’t look as good on me as most empire-waisted dresses, but I usually put a foot down and reach towards the heavens, shouting, “If no one takes in the fake plants of the world, the various bottle caps, plastic bags, and old retainers sacrificed themselves for naught. Or for nay. I’m really not that great at using Old English. Where will they go? What will they do? What small insects will use them as a home base for an invasion in 2014? No, my friend. Certain times in history demand a hero. And I am that hero. Do you have any chocolate or Red Bull?”

The Kellermans came to own palm trees the same way most people come to own fake palm trees. They were given to us by my mother-in-law, to go with the living room she put together and painted while we were on our honeymoon.

What do you mean that’s not how you got your palm trees?

Well, gardening has never been my strong suit, but I decided I would take over the duties of rearranging leaves, every other Monday, and reading out loud to both of them. You may think fake plants don’t have feelings or appreciate Louisa May Alcott, but you’d be wrong. Little Women tugs at the heartstrings of generation after generation of both people and plant.

Really? Your heart doesn’t soar when Jo gets her manuscript published?

That’s what I thought.

This went well, right up until the twins began to walk, talk, and prune the leaves they could reach with their chubby, little paws. Slowly, I watched both the front corner and far corner plant retreat into themselves, all the while growing bald and suspicious of humans.

It wasn’t until I started finding Sundance’s purses full of fake leaves and watched as she ripped another one down and poke Doc in the head with it, that I knew the time of sweet repose had come for Far Corner Plant.

Front Corner Plant was discovered defending himself the only way he knew how, by falling on top of the baby. Both baby and plant are now highly aware and full of distrust, respectively.

Far Corner Plant must go.

It’s been a good run.

So, if any of you have a replacement palm tree out there somewhere, please remember to read it classic literature. But please don’t send it over here.

The baby has a vendetta.

Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com, and is the author of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles: Mostly-True Tales of An Impending Miracle. You can reach her at paigekellerman@gmail.com.

She also hides out on Twitter and Facebook.


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