Once again, my black thumb has struck down a seemingly healthy plant in the prime of its doomed life. Less than a week ago, I bought a fragrant purple hyacinth to place in the prosperity corner of my desk (I’ve been knee-deep in feng shui this month). Let me repeat, I bought this flower less than seven days ago. Five days, to be exact. Check out the photo to see what it looks like today. You might not be able to tell but it's leaning WAY over and the blooms are turning brown, shriveling up, and it looks like it's on its death (flower)bed. The irony of it being in my "prosperity" corner is not lost on me, as I scramble to make rent.
Why am I surprised? I kill off all my plants in short order, whether it’s a pot of basil in my windowsill, or a row of cheery flowers in a plot outside my home. A rosemary topiary bit the dust over the holidays. It makes no difference how hardy or fragile the plants are, how much sun or shade they require, how much they need to be watered. I am the gardening grim reaper.
But being the optimist I clearly am, I continue to purchase potted plants. I figure they’ll last slightly longer than cut flowers. I figure wrong.
I’m like effing Rappaccini’s Daughter here. Just breathing on the blooms seems to cause them to shrivel up and die. Perhaps this is a clue as to why I’m single. Maybe I’ve killed off my first dates. Hmmm. Maybe it’s not them; maybe it really is me. Rats.