I am not a gardener. Oh, I've tried. Trust me. Back when Kevin was about five I decided to be a part of this community garden thing, and got this giant plot of raised garden bed to plant things in. I did carrots, broccoli, lettuce, peas, you name it. They didn't turn out too bad. But it was a lot of work, and all Kevin was interested in was pulling out the good plants and leaving the weeds, or making dirt piles.
Then I tried flowers and things that went okay for awhile, but I just can't get into it. I'm not a gardener. I admit that I don't even LIKE it. I love other people's gardens, but I just don't have the will to do it myself. In fact, I'll let you in on a secret-we don't have one (count 'em-one) single plant inside this house. I may be able to make the odd weed derivative survive for a short period of time, but houseplants are a completely different story. They die upon entering my domain. I think I have secret plant killing properties or something. The only one that has survived for longer then six months is Kevin's Venus fly trap. Why? Well, it's not mine, and it eats bugs anyway.
My plants would probably live longer if I remembered to water them, but I tend to forget, you see. It's probably written on a list somewhere that I lost. So when we moved here we decided that we should get some silk ones so I just have to vacuumn them. Sounds good to me! They would never die, just get a little...um...dusty.
The landlords must not have heard of my
Will the plants survive...
a) our summer vacation
b) until Christmas
c) forget it, those puppies are toast!
I'll let you know the results in September. But remind me. I may have written that on a list.