Happy women with plants are bombarding the internet.
Healthy exercise bloggers with killer smiles keep plants in their apartments.
Nutrition bloggers with plant-adorned work spaces boost happy guts and happy thighs.
That homeless man across the street lives by a tree and he's doing ok.
So I thought to myself:
“Plant equals happy, yes?”
I strolled over to a little D.C. plant shop and asked the clerk:
“Please point out the least killable plant. I once glanced at a flower and it spontaneously combusted.”
And that’s how I ended up with my ZZ plant.
What's fabulous about this kind of plant is that an infant with a bad case of brain damage can’t kill it. You only need to hydrate the soil twice a month at the most and keep it out of direct sunlight.
I am documenting my experience with the plant so you can decide whether a plant’s the right home decor for you.
I bring the plant home, water it. Done.
Taking care of something gives me a tinge of purpose. I name the plant "Aziz."
Aziz breathes life into the apartment. The whole space is transformed because of him.
My boyfriend gives me a hug and a kiss once I return home from work. He proclaims his devotion by saying: “You’re the only one for me!” I repeat his proclamation.
When I walk by Aziz, I whisper: “Don’t believe what you’ve just heard. Our love is true.”
My prayer to Aziz is daily. I start all my mornings in bow, solidifying that my devotion is pure.
Today and always:
Aziz has changed my life and will continue to do so with all his majestic photosynthetic powers. Plant is love, plant is life.