A Lily by any other name.....

I'm deeply touched by Blondie's gift, more so that she remembered my nose crinkling comment about liking trees and plants - green stuff, so much more than flowers. That deeply touched feeling has now given way to deep suspicion, as I survey the instructions on the care of my new Cala Lillies.

'Keep 15 feet away from direct sunlight'. Oook. We're in London. (a) there's no sun (b) my flat isn't 15 feet long. Is there a deeper, subliminal meaning reserved only for those that don't kill plants?? My defensiveness reaches paranoia as I eyeball the next line, 'Keep damp but do not over water'. Looking at the instructions from different angles fails to clear away the clouds of 'wtf' that mar my brow. I'm caught in an existential conundrum, and can feel myself age as I try to unravel the truth behind the command.

Day 3 and my bonhomie towards Blondie has distilled into aggravated anxiety as I glare at the offensive tinge of yellow marring the dark green leaves cradling the delicate chalices of greenywhite lily. I hover around the pot, unsure of my next move. Uh oh. Spinal cord driven executive decision and my heartbeat jumps guiltily as I asses the wan, yellow leaf in my hand. I hastily dispose of the dead vegetation and resume a nonchalant inspection of the resident flora and fauna. I contemplate taking my shears to a couple of the leaves before my attention is snagged by a glimpse of more yellow. My resolve dithers severely as I try to gauge potential bud from dead leaf.

Discretion wins the day and I resign myself to some more poking around the pot to determine ground damposity. Is this damp enough? Should I add more water? Could it really drown? Do I look like I have a degree in garden management? Hell, do I look like I do manual labour? If it had been only flowers, I'd have just happily revelled in it, waited for it to die and tossed it, but no... she had to get me a flowering friggin' plant. This dirt under fingernail look is really not my thing.

I retreat to the sofa in disgust, and divide my irritation equally between the F1 and the Cala's. Three and a half minutes later, I'm poking stressed fingers back into the mud type thing. Fuck this. I think we both need a drink.