I managed to find a pink humidifier to accessorize her domain
and she gets perfectly diffused light all day long in this room, it’s really the dream.
I feel like we haven’t talked about plants in ages. Isn’t that wild?
That was all we talked about at all in the beginning!
Now we mainly talk about ourselves . . .
ChaoticConcertina:but in a way, it’s all the same.
Things we’re growing, nurturing, encouraging to thrive.
Pruning when necessary.
Holding our breaths when we repot, hoping the transition will be painless for all.
Circle of life and all that poetic shit.
Sorry, I’m a day drinker now.
So you need to ignore at least a good 40% of my pontificating.
PinksPosies&Pearls:??????Nope, I think your pontifications are perf
I know to other people it probably seems silly, talking to a stranger about houseplants.
But I don’t know if I would’ve been brave enough for this repotting adventure alone.
I have a confession. I keep thinking it’s time we met.
See if we make each other laugh in person or if we’re only funny behind a screen.
Obviously not until after your daughter’s visit, I don’t want to take a single second of that.
PinksPosies&Pearls:I know you’re going through a hard time right now.
And I know you really don’t want to talk about it??Otherwise you would be.
And I know you’re much more comfortable helping with MY disasters.
Just remember I’m here to help you through a case of root rot.
Whenever you need to unload whatever you’re carrying.
And hey, we have the drop on some fresh bone meal, so things are already looking up!
There was something rancid outside her door.
She wasn’t sure how long it had been there, because she and the rest of the staff used the back door, but now the day was here. She was finally openingPink Blossomto the public. This was what she had envisioned, all of those days as she toiled away in the classroom. A beautiful flower shop, fragrant and feminine, cheerful customers and the even more cheerful chime of her cash register.
Nowherein her daydream had there been this revolting, stomach-turning smell, like something dead. She gagged a little, fishing out her keys and quickly escaping into the eucalyptus and rose scented interior of the store.
Ugh, it’s probably a dead squirrel or something. She peered out the window, craning her neck to see the unfortunate critter, but there was nothing visible. The clean sidewalk, the decorative, wrought-iron trash bin the city emptied weekly, the street beyond, still bearing the water marks of its early-morning cleaning. Sumi frowned. There was no sign of what could have been causing the smell.
You’re right, it’s probably a dead animal at the curb. The city department would likely dispose of it in the morning.For what we’re paying in property taxes, they’d fucking better.Fortunately, the smell didn’t carry into her shop.
Opening at all had felt like a hard-fought battle.
