Around late March (when we'd had a lovely sprinkling of 80+ degree days and the whole state thought it was early Summer) I bought some herb plants to replant as gifts for Sweetie (my dad's best girl) and Trouble (my best girl's best guy).
I was so full of myself for purchasing them well in advance of Easter morning, the day I was planning to gift them.
When you tend to be chronically late for every damn thing in your life, you have to take any and every opportunity to give yer-self an atta-girl every now and then when you do "shit on the pot" (as opposed to choosing to get off the pot...kwim?)
So this year Lil Miss Last Minute had her poop together (so to speak).
I brought the thriving plants home and placed them lovingly on the back deck.
I watered them thoroughly.
Later, I watered them again.
When I let Jersey out to pee I gave them another small drink.
And before I went to bed I gave them a bit more.
For extra insurance (in case they dried out through the night) I gave them a nightcap (I should probably say a night-cup).
Those babies were swimming in H20.
And looking healthy as hell.
I repeated this process for a couple of days.
And then I totally forgot all about my poor little herb plants.
I gave them not a thought until the evening before Easter when I suddenly remembered that I forgot all about the herb plants.
It had been maybe 10 days since I'd even looked at them.
Easter is all about resurrection and I had high hopes.
Until I couldn't even find the plants.
I looked high and low, they were nowhere to be found.
They'd been moved (OF COURSE THEY HAD) because Daddio later explained to me (for the zillionth time) that he gets embarrassed by my dead and dying plants and flowers hanging out at the house.
He likes to hide them on the side of the garage where they can't be seen from the street or the backyard.
"It looks like the Adams' family home around here" he likes to say.
"And YOU Morticia...have done it AGAIN"..."You've killed the plants, killed them dead"
"Yes, you are the plant world's Dr. Kevorkian, someday you are going to realize that plants come to you to die." he goes on to say.
(Thanks man, I'm feelin the luv).
When I found the basil plants around the side of the garage they were much smaller than I'd remembered them, much darker too.
In fact, the plants were dry as a bone.
Dead as a doornail.
They must have died a horrible death.
Shriveled up like raisons on sticks.
Damn, I hate it when I do that.
I once saw a (supposed to be funny) sign that said "I wouldn't kill my houseplants if they could scream for food and water like my kids and pets do"...
Hardy har har... but true as hell.
I knew I wouldn't be able to replace them before we gathered together for Easter, so I figured that I'd explain the sit-chee-ation and that my loved ones would understand.
I promised Sweetie and Trouble that I'd make good on my gift of potted herbs.
They kindly understood.
(Maybe they rolled their eyes when I wasn't looking..?)
Time got away from me (OF COURSE IT DID) and after a couple of good, squirmy self examining moments/days/weeks/months of "what a freakin lame bimbo you are, dupin people out of gifts you promised, why do you always procrastinate so? No one can count on you to do the things you say you will do, no one can count on you to remember anything you pathetic lame, windbag, bimbo you"
in addition to my darling dear dad feeling the need to add to my squirm by saying (on a couple of occasions) "Where in the hell are Edna's basil plants???"
and other such sentiments casting a glaring light on my ineptitude-ness (don't write me and ask me if I know that that is not even A word or the correct word..it's my fricken azz blog and I can write whatever nonsensical gibberish-y crap-oooo-la that I choose..u dig)
The heat was on.
The heat was onnnnnnnnn"
The heat IS on to get my behind in action and get the gifts made and to their waiting recipients.
And suddenly when I am finally on my game and ready to roll there are no basil plants to be found in the city of Detroit (and it's surrounding suburbs).
There are no basil plants to be found in the whole friggin state of Michigan.
Today I learned that there is a shortage of basil plants all around the country.
OF COURSE THERE IS.
Damn plants they should have hollered or screamed or something.