by Corky Lyn

Created on: March 07, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

THE GIFT THAT KEPT ON GIVING

My Brother gave me a plant for my Birthday. Given the choice between a dozen roses and a houseplant- potted foliage wins hands down. To me, receiving a bouquet of flowers means . . . I'm thinking about you, but only for a couple of days. My warm and fuzzy thoughts will have reached their full bloom in one day, soon wilt-and become quite stagnant. All that will remain is slimy brown water that leaves a gooey film on your best vase, the one you found dumpster diving one lucrative Saturday afternoon. You are then forced to throw out the moldy sticks, all while holding your breath and cramming them into the trash with an old orange juice container.

So I was thrilled when my Brother gave me a houseplant. It was exotic. It resembled a pineapple. It had spiky, fern- like plumes, and came encased in an intricate wooden pot. It was very old worldly and I felt it gave off a very sophisticated aura. It was just the thing that would bring a bit of class to the interior design of my living room. Just looking at it-juxtaposed against the futon, bean bag chairs and milk crate end-tables- left me feeling so cultured and genteel.

You can imagine my surprise when three weeks later; my elegant, tasteful friend began radiating a stench that was quite foul. At first, I remained good natured about the smell. Perhaps smelly house plants are the price you pay for owning such elegance, I reasoned. But as the weeks flew by and the smell got stronger and stronger, I began to lose some of my benevolent feelings.

Now I was forced into a corner, I couldn't throw it out, and apparently I couldn't kill it either. I think it may have been some sort of mutant cactus because I don't think I ever watered it, but yet, there it stood, with its bright and verdant plumes, mocking me with its odor.
Every time I sat down next to it, I'd wrinkle my nose and shake my head. But yet, there it remained, placed in all it's stinky splendor in a place of honor, next to my ashtray, and remote control.

Of course my brother is the type that needs constant updates on the status of his gifts. The type who will continually pat himself on the back, applauding his fine choice, by randomly popping in to make sure it remains on prominent display.

So I was stuck, and I will sheepishly admit, I began to have some bad thoughts toward my Brother. I was thinking that this was his attempt at an extended practical joke. I pictured him standing in the florists' department at Wal-Mart scratch and sniffing

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>