OFFICE PLANT

It was a lovely plant. I inherited it my first day on the job. Apparently, the church secretary before me decided to leave it where it was at - and expected her replacement to figure out how to care for it's lovely blooms. I knew nothing about orchids. So I studied. I googled. I researched. And I learned. I bought a spray bottle and moved it to a place where it got sunlight, but not direct sunlight. Heat, but not too much. I lovingly named it Phyllis, and began a relationship that I hoped would do her justice. Her blooms were magnificent. White, full, with just a tinge of pink, like the blush of a young school girl. Her leaves were rich and green and the moss that carefully protected her roots was placed just so. I timed my waterings. I made sure she was watered every other Thursday, and just before I left for home, every 14 days, I would tenderly spray her leaves, pour just a quarter cup of water at her roots, and speak gently, zen-like words to ease any troubles she might have faced. I made sure I was alone when these tender ministrations too place - I did not want to be embarrassed to be caught talking to a plant. Oh, I had done damage to other orchids. She was not my first. I had bought my father a beautiful orchid, which promptly got too wet and all the flowers fell off. He used to joke that I was taking care of his "stick" - and sadly, we put the plant out of its misery early on in its pitiful existence. But not Phyllis. No. She was a trooper. She thrived under my tender loving care. The attention she received was worthy of her beauty. For nearly six months, her blooms were strong and healthy. Her leaves turned even a darker shade of green. All was going so well. Until.... I missed a Thursday. And a Friday. In fact, I didn't get to her until the following Monday. I rushed into my office, worried that I had done permanent damage to poor Phyllis. I fretted about, apologizing to her profusely for leaving her alone and uncared for. I begged her not to leave me... to give me one more chance. I made promises that I would never, ever again leave her unattended for so long. I even broke my own rule and fussed over her while in full view of my boss. I did not care who saw me talking to the plant. I only wanted her to live - and to live well. My employer watched all of this with a bemused silence. He let me work all the way through my guilt and then, when I had settled down, asked me, "So... how long have you been watering the plant?" I explained to him that I had studied, researched, and had apparently discovered the perfect formula for caring for orchids. He sat quietly for a moment, then began to giggle. Then laugh. Then his laughter turned into large guffaws. Tears began rolling down his cheeks. He couldn't catch his breath. When he finally paused at the confused look on my face (after all, what is so funny about having discovered a perfect orchid care formula?)... he gasped and said between huffs... "Are... you...... hahahahahaha.... aware.... aaaahhhhhh..... that the ....... tee-hee.... orchid.... you're... hahahaha... watering..... baah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.... is a .... Silk plant????" He collapsed on his desk top, head on his arms, convulsing with laughter at my expense..... Phyllis stopped talking to me soon after that. It might be because I stopped watering her. I wonder.....