My department at work has been moved to a new building. Er, maybe I should say ‘different’ building because it was build in the 1930s. I don’t believe that the 1930s would be considered ‘new.’
I’m fixing up my office and will post pictures sometime next week so you can see what fun I have been up to.
I decided I wanted to take a silk plant to work. It has been snuggling on top of the headboard in our bedroom for some time. Like maybe 10 years. At least.
Ten years is a long time to ignore a silk plant. Granted it won’t shrivel up and die from lack of water because it doesn’t need water. Thank goodness.
But ten years is quite a while for dust to collect and spiders to spin a vast network of webs.
I took it outside to shake off the dust. Easier said than done. The dust was as high as an elephant’s eye. The acres of cobwebs held the dust firmly in place.
I decided that the only way to remove said dust was to give the silk plant a bath.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Picture, if you will, a soaking wet dog. Wet fur plastered to his skin in mangy clumps. Great droplets of water cascading down his face. Sad, mournful eyes peering out at you. He whimpers faintly.
That’s what the plant was like. I sure hate it when my silk plants whimper.
Question: when you add water to ten years worth of dust, what do you get?
A. 15 acres of mud on each leaf
B. A tsunami of mud flooding into the plant’s wicker basket
C. Plants stem so weighted down that they will never go back to their original state
D. All of the above
Question: when you add water to ten years worth of cobwebs, what do you get?
A. A network that’s stronger than titanium
B. A network that’s stronger than titanium that can support 15 acres of mud
C. A network that clings stronger than ever to the host leaves
D. All of the above
If, Dear Reader, you answered D and D to the questions above, you get a gold star on your forehead. Move to the head of the class. And be sure to take the disheveled plant with you.