There was a knock on the door and I thought, “Hooray, my Gymboree package!”
Tom was like, “Gymboree? The kids have enough clothes.”
I said, “Not a spring and summer wardrobe. What you see in their closets is for the winter.” Which, okay, was sort of a lie. But Gymboree had Gymbuck redemption and I had Gymbucks and I wasn’t about to let them go to waste. That’s like a clothing sin or something.
I opened the front door expecting to see the UPS man in his poo-colored uniform. (Seriously. They should change the UPS color to something more attractive. Like blue.)
Instead I found my neighbor standing there.
“I need a big favor,” she began and at first I thought, “Great. She wants me to watch her kid.”
I don’t mind watching people’s children. It’s just…well, actually I do mind. I’m not a fan of doing it when they are little. If they are past the age of 7, they can generally entertain themselves. Below that and they wreck havoc on my home.
“I’m going to visit my sister and I need someone to take care of my plant,” my neighbor continued. “You would just have to water it once a day. Can I drop it off Thursday?”
This is the point where I should have been like, “Lady, I kill plants. I swear they shrink away from me when they see me approaching.”
Instead I went, “Sure!”
Because I like to please people. (Which is usually why I wind up agreeing to watch kids under the age of 7.)
After she left, Tom kept tossing me a Look.
“What?” I asked. “I can take care of a plant.”
Tom, who knows all about my black thumb, looked wary.
“I can take care of a PLANT,” I insisted.
“Well,” Tom began, wondering how to approach this without getting yelled at. “You killed the Chia pet.”
Okay, that wasn’t my fault. I assumed all I had to do was slather on the seeds, water it, and it would sprout out magically like on television.
Who knew that it needed to be watered daily?
“That was an accident,” I explained.
“And,” Tom continued. “There was the plant in the singing holder that died. Even though it would start to sing when it needed water.”
I MIGHT have turned off the planter when it kept startling me with the music. I SHOULD have just watered the thing but one of the kids would act up and distract me. Thus, a deceased plant.
“I’ll remember,” I vowed.
“Basically all the plants in our yard died,” Tom prattled on.
“They were sick to begin with!”
“Please don’t kill this woman’s plant. If she really loves the thing and it dies, it’s going to be awkward,” Tom said.
“It’s not going to die! I’ll plug a reminder in my phone to water it. Okay? It’ll be okay!”
Or…people who follow me on Facebook or Twitter, give me a daily “water the plant!” comment.
I can do this.
Please don't die!