There is a reason why my sister is the green-fingered one of the family, and not me. I don't do that stuff. I can't do that stuff. Its not that I don't like plants, I do. I even know the Latin name of one. Fatsia Japonica. It's the Caster Oil plant.
(I feel I should point out I knew that before my obsession with Japan. IT'S FATE.)
When we were kids, and my sister started to gain an interest in gardening, she took over a little section of the back garden as hers. Obviously, doting sister that I was, I had to have one too. Jo's section looked immaculate, with trailing wall flowers and little shrubs and she even grew a lettuce or something. Mine got cleared of weeds, and then forgotten about.
I had a Gerbera once. It died.
Then, I got a Calla Lily. It died. Although my mother resurrected it. And then it died again. Then it came back. (it's a Jesus lily apparently)
Then, I moved to uni and my parents got me a Flaming Katy that SURVIVED! Until Polson knocked it off the window sill days before I moved out and destroyed it.
Having learnt from my lesson that Flaming Katy's are virtually indestructible, I got another one for my room, and it lives to this day. Polson also replaced my original one, so now I have two fully alive plants in my room. I had learnt that they need little care except the occasional dead heading and to water them when the succulent leaves are droopy (that doesn't mean the leaves are tasty, but they are all thick and stuff).
Which brings us to the point of this post. I looked at the office plant, and realised it's succulent leaves (I can't write that with a straight face) were droopy and sad looking. From my relatively new found expertise, I realised this plant needed water, and stat! So I watered it.
I came back from putting the watering can back to find a waterfall running down from the plant pot, over the filing cabinet and into each drawer, before pooling in the carpet.
I'm just going to stick to my Flaming Katy's from now on.
<3 x
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