“Blue-Fingers” goes Gardening

Plants hate me.  Every pot plant or flower bouquet I have ever had turned into a dry arrangement, no matter how much water, plant food and whatnot I gave it.

I was recently given a violet and watered it according to instructions.  It’s on its last legs.

As for gardens, I prefer them a bit wild and overgrown, full of shrubs and trees.  Flower beds and rose bushes are not for me.   In our house the roles are well-defined.  My husband does the gardening, I do the appreciating.

One morning I decided to give it a try.  I was sure that I would benefit from the ‘therapeutic exercise’.

I bought the plants, stones and some other decorative stuff and set out in a little patch of about 2m x 1m.  Therapeutic schmerapeutic!  The more time I spent there the angrier I got.  Firstly, it was hot.  Secondly, I had no understanding on how they wanted to be arranged or how far apart.  Stuff like that.

I think it took about four hours and by the time I had finished, my husband was ready to send me off on a broomstick.

We have similar plants to the ones I planted elsewhere in the garden and they are as happy as pie.  Mine looks scruffy and sad.  And I did plant them too close together, the whole bed looks shabby.

I’ve decided not to meddle in the garden again, it is bad for my mental health.  Neither do I buy pot plants.  When I receive one as a gift, I tend and water.  And wait for it to give up its little plant ghost.

 

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