I’d gone in search of bookshelves but returned with a beautiful star-like orange flower with spiky, waxy leaves. I nurtured the plant on my sunny study windowsill and admired it daily as I sat down to write.
One day, my wife came in as I was watering my prized possession.
“You’re joking!” she said.
“Even desert plants need water,” I said.
“Maybe, but this plastic one doesn’t.”
“It’s not plastic; it’s a succulent.”
She separated plant from pot. There was foam instead of soil; wires instead of roots.
I grow only herbs now – vegetation I can eat.
To be sure.
One day, my wife came in as I was watering my prized possession.
“You’re joking!” she said.
“Even desert plants need water,” I said.
“Maybe, but this plastic one doesn’t.”
“It’s not plastic; it’s a succulent.”
She separated plant from pot. There was foam instead of soil; wires instead of roots.
I grow only herbs now – vegetation I can eat.
To be sure.
