Plant People and Parties

 

I’m not into these big parties She likes to throw. Lots of smells, lots of chaos, usually lots of little kids and everyone way too distracted to get off their butts and throw my ball; but I’ve gotta say, a party made up of plant people usually means a party made up of pet people, and that means table scraps, one-on-one attention and everyone telling Her she needs to lighten up on the canine diet thing.

But there’s a big downside. A big one.

The conversation.

Here’s just a tiny peak into last Saturday night. (When people with real lives would have been at a club in New York City discussing wildcrafted cocktails and how awesome their dogs are.)

“Who saw the new senecio at MANTS this year? Who’s growing it?”

(Who cares? It’s not even green.)

“I grew that euphorbia three years ago and it did nothing for me.”

(Much like this conversation.)

“It’s a little known fact that….”

(There are so many little known facts. So. Many.)

“What did Tony have to say about that mangave?”

(Who is this mystical Tony and why does ANY OF THIS MATTER?!?)

You’ve gotta ask yourself how they stay awake long enough to get the words out of their mouths.  He shares my hell of course.  But He’s got whiskey to get Him through, and He doesn’t share that.  I’ve got to go through the whole evening stone cold sober. On a diet.

Example: She’s got this weird stick tree with no leaves sitting on the kitchen counter. Ugly as hell.  Taking up space that should have been filled by a jar of meaty treats.  For a week everyone around here has been treating this thing with it with the contempt it deserves. “Mom, that’s ugly.” “Why is there a tree on the counter?” “What is the point of this?” etc.

All reasonable questions.

Then, boom, She has 15 plant people to dinner and it’s a topic of conversation for ten minutes.  Grafted weeping pussy willow. $14.99 at the grocery store. No way. Yes way. Go pick some up before they’re gone  Damn, you could buy these and sell them for three times that price.  No kidding. What a great little form. Where are you going to put it?  How did they make any money on this? Are there any left? Where’s my coat, I’m going now. Ha ha ha. Yada yada yada.

 

WHATever.

 

I’ve got an idea.  Why don’t you yank that stick out of that pot and throw it for me for ten minutes instead? I’ll give you more than your money’s worth.

And that was just the pre-dinner conversation.  Once the wine gets flowing it gets really exciting.  Truly gripping stuff.  They start arguing about hardiness….the merits of a clay soil….why euonymus is underrated…how much help Christopher Lloyd had in his garden…why that flipping senecio is so hot right now…what ‘native’ should or should not mean…why the new cleyera from Southern Living is sexy….why it’s not….what Hans’ mangave is doing right now…

I could go on, and did, but Siri fell asleep while I was halfway through dictating that last sentence.

And they wonder why they have to have parties with themselves.


2018-02-28T16:58:55+00:00 By |

About the Author:

Explorer. Varmint hunter. Dirt chaser. Dog.

5 Comments

  1. Kathy Jentz January 16, 2018 at 3:37 pm - Reply

    Good hostesses always provide a mammal to pet and play with when the plant talk turns dull — you are doing a great job, little guy.

    • Marianne Willburn January 18, 2018 at 3:19 am - Reply

      Is that why you’re always petting the cats while I’m talking? LOL

  2. Dan Weil January 18, 2018 at 5:59 pm - Reply

    You go guy! You are much more fun to read than She is, but don’t tell her I said that. Oh, and tell her to get rid of the pop-up. The only thing that should pop up is you to grab a stick.

    • Marianne Willburn January 19, 2018 at 1:44 pm - Reply

      I’ll pretend I didn’t read that. 🙂

  3. thegardendiaries January 20, 2018 at 9:12 pm - Reply

    Loved this blog post. My dog can relate!

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