On Christmas Eve morning the doorbell rang. I had
received a gift—a huge speckled poinsettia plant.
The trouble is I am not particularly fond of poinsettias.
I do not find them to be a particularly attractive species. I also have always
been weary of their poisonous nature to both children and pets.
But I was touched by the generosity of the giver and
so I placed the plant near the fireplace. And there is stood regally with all the
other Christmas decor.
It looked festive during the holiday season.
But then Christmas was over--yet the plant remained behind. And there is no time of the year that I find poinsettias to be more
disenchanting than the day after I place all my other Christmas stuff away.
Poinsettias are the guest at the party that refuse to
leave.
And so the plant now sits in my living room in the
corner receiving no light and water.
I want it to die—slowly.
I want to punish it for having roots.
And when all the leaves have dropped I will place it
on the curb. And I will hope that the generous person who gave it to me isn’t
offended by my flor-icide and better still, buys me a bottle of wine instead next
year.
Because wine never
stays too late for the party. And wine looks particularly good the day after all my Christmas stuff is put away.
No comments:
Post a Comment