Friday, March 16, 2007

Guilty by association

I know it’s wrong but I couldn’t help myself. The rose sits there in it’s pot; gloriously spectacular in full bloom. A heady perfume surrounds me as I plant out all the other plants leaving it until last. It’s criminal to allow such a plant to be sold for such a paultry sum, it’s worth 5 times what I paid for it. I can’t work out why it was so cheap? I’m insulted on it’s behalf. It’s outrageous that something as resplendent and verdant as this rose should be sold for $7:49. It’s in full bloom, perfect petals, immaculte buds, shiny foliage. There is nothing wrong with it. There is no reason for it to be sold off cheap.
“Whatcha doin kid?” It’s my neighbour. I’m 45. She’s nearly twice my age. Why does she call me ‘kid’? I ask her. I ask her several times because she’s hard of hearing.
“Listen, when you get to my age, everyone’s a kid.” She has a point. Policemen do look like teenagers these days; always a subtle sign.
“Where’d that husban of yorn?”
“He’s out with the children.”
“He’s what?’
“Out with the children,’ louder.
“He’s out with the kids?”
“Lord I swear you don’t know how lucky you are to have him. He’s a saint. D’you know that?”
“I know.”
“You know I’m only kidding ye right?”
“Well ye never know with you British types.”
She’s a Texan, I think. I love her. She’s a gem.
“What ye doin?”
“I can see that. I’m not blind as well as deaf. What’s that nasty mess though? Looks like dirt soup?”
“It is.”
“It is?”
“Darn it. What is it?”
“Compost, blood meal and planting compost.”
“It smells evil. Is that another one of them ‘meal’ things? Is that different stuff to the other ‘meal’ thing? I tell you, I went and bought some and my goodness, I tell you, that plant, that plant is just beautiful, just beautiful.’ I have been telling her about bonemeal for 6 years now, and finally she’s tried it.
“Yes, this is bloodmeal. Not bonemeal nor oatmeal.”
“Bloodmeal.” Louder.
“You’re teasing me, I know it. I can see it if I can’t hear it. I can’t be doing with that. I’m a vegetarian you know. Besides, it smells so darned evil.”
"Don't exaggerate!"
"Ain't there a vegetarian version?"
"You could always use your own blood!" I yell.
She dips her finger tips in the mess and flicks it at me.

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