I didn’t mean to kill it.
It really wasn’t my fault.
When it was inside on the kitchen counter where I could see it, I watered it faithfully—mostly.
Then it must have been in somebody’s way one day, so somebody moved it outside onto the picnic table on the back patio. Luckily, I could still see it from the window over the kitchen sink, which is a place I am very, VERY frequently. So, I would look out and see my plant and still be reminded to water it—occasionally.
It was struggling, but surviving.
Then it must have been in somebody’s way there one day, so somebody moved it onto the ground in an obscure corner of the patio.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Jason knew the risks of giving me a potted plant that would need consistent nurturing to survive.
I’m not a natural nurturer.
Why do you think he works at home?
If he were to leave the house every day to go to work he might never get fed or watered.
He should’ve just gotten me a nice vase of cut flowers for Mothers Day.
They’re supposed to die in a matter of days.
Then there’s no guilt.
Giving me something I have to be responsible for and nurture to keep alive is like giving me a gift-wrapped box of guilt!
I DON’T NEED MORE GUILT!
Don’t you think it’s hard enough for me every time I get in the van and pull out of the driveway to remember that horrible day a couple weeks ago when I accidentally ran over our new puppy?!!
No, I’m not ready to talk about it yet.