3 of 642 things to write about: to a dying plant

weeds by the fence

Okay. Three installments in and I’m confident that we’ve reached the silliest prompt of the book. Where can we go from here? “Dress your poop in a bow tie and spats and take it to the opera”? I realize there’s no writing involved in that hypothetical. Just total class.


Hey, ficus. How’s things? I’m thinking things are not so good. Just guessing, obviously, because you don’t talk much, but given all the dead leaves and the dried-up soil in your pot, it looks like you’re dying. And that’s probably our fault. We didn’t know that ficuses don’t like hamburger but do like water and sunlight, okay? You looked like a burger sort of plant.

I’m going to give you some of that water you like so much, ficus, but first we should talk about why it’s important that you hang in there and cling to life. Life is important, okay? It’s the most — it’s the important thing there is, right. Because without it, you’d. Be dead. So choose life.

Then there’s the matter of the leaves. They’re a dried up old mess, is what they are. You’re just throwing your leaves on the floor, and they get all gritty when we step on them, and then the mice poop in all that mess. You’re attracting mice, ficus. Don’t do that.

The other thing is — this is a bit of a sensitive topic. But my wife’s depressed, okay? She’s not feeling the love lately, if you get what I mean. And what I mean is that she won’t have sex with me. I come home and she’s depressed, and then I shout sometimes because she’s depressed and that’s how I deal with my feelings, and then she won’t sleep with me. And I’d like to think that if you lived a little, just stopped with the slow-but-steady death thing you’re doing, then maybe she’d feel a little better. And I’d feel better too. Less shouting and throwing things, more sex. You see? Yeah, you see just fine.

Okay, ficus. I’m glad we had this chat. I don’t think you need water after all. What you need is some classic Wham tunes. So I’m going to put on some really early stuff — I’m talking “Wham Rap!”-era Wham — and leave you alone to think about what we’ve discussed. We’re off to Mexico for a month at an all-inclusive, so hold down the fort! Maybe her mood will improve. Just don’t drop any more of your leaves, ficus. Gross.