“I’ll tell you something about the old bullfrog. He often becomes so pleased with his own voice that his wife has to nudge him several times before he’ll stop his burping and turn around to hug her… we men are not so very different from the bullfrog.” -Roald Dahl
My sunflower died. Some treat their pets like their own children, I, not as daringly, treat my plants like pets. My conclusion, I’m rubbish at the gift of pet ownership because my disobedient sunflower died. I suppose it was partially my fault. I thought the care instructions looked stupid sticking out of the clay pot so I clamped my teeth onto the slip and spat it onto the floor. In case you were wondering why I simply didn’t just pick it out with my other hand, it was because I had a sack of potatoes in the other. I don’t remember why I had a potato sack, but it must have been on sale, and as there’s always a catch to good fortune, I might have had to riffle through the moldy duds. In any case, I don’t remember where the sack was placed after that steamy walk home so I really haven’t seen those potatoes since. Oh I remember now, I bought the potatoes so I’d have something to distract people from noticing a grown man with a mountaineer beard buying a sunflower plant. I’m still a bit shy sharing my closet addiction to botany and modern furniture design, people will start getting the wrong idea, like I’m a sassy artist hipster or sassy hipstartist, or sassy arborchitect something slanderously sassy, or even a lovable gay.
The point is moot, but the sunflower never went off topic. It just sprouted one day And went to withering by the 7th day. Point A to point B in life. That dead sunflower drew out my yearnings and duties as a human being to go off subject, trail off, discover new things with our senses, fart in every elevator of the hotels dowtown. Make some goals, meet them for lunch even, know they’re there, because they can forget about you just as easily. Tip more than 15% sometimes, and take one Kickboxing class.
Just never forget where you came from, those who’ve been beside you the whole time. Is anyone else annoyed about the fact their focusing on Meg Whitman’s illegal maid a little too much? Aren’t all maids illegal?
Did you know that the little yellow clover butterfly often carries his wife around on his back? Me neither.