ARR 1988 - Flipbook - Page 19
She woke early, long before noon, and was taking down her breakfast
when she remembered the plant. It was still there on the sill and it did look
a bit better, not very healthy but definitely nicer looking than it had
yesterday. She stared in surprise and said, "Why you old ugly. I do believe
you're feeling better. Did you like the breakfast I gave you?"
Some of the plant's browned branches were straighter and a few of its
leaves had stretched out of their curled position. She shook her head in
wonder at this. The damn thing was still alive and struggling! She mixed
up another vitamin meal and poured it into the still-damp dirt and then
curled up in the armchair in front of the television with her one remaining
beer, to concentrate on the early talk show. The guest this morning was a
plant expert who was showing how to repot and rejuvenate sick plants and
she only half-listened since it was not too interesting, but then something the
plant man said made her stop, beer in mid-air, just as she was about the
swallow the last dregs.
"If you want your plants to really perk up and take notice, give them
a little beer every few days," the expert exclaimed. "Honest folks. I'm not
kidding, although I know it sounds kind of funny. Most plants like beer and
it's good for them. Not too much, of course, but a little drinkie now and then.
Try it on yours and see if they don't stand up and look alive. Then you11 have
drunken plants on your hands, but who cares as long as they are healthy and
happy?"
Give beer to plants! The very idea. What would they think of next? A
Two bucks and a ·quarter for a six-pack of and they wanted her to waste it
on a dying plant instead of drinking it herself. Swishing the last of her
precious brew around in the bottle, she was about to down it when she
glanced at her windowsill. "What have I got to lose but a few extra sips?" She
dumped the bottles upside down and shook the last drops into the earth
around the moribund plant.
"You better appreciate that, old ugly. That's the last until I get to the
store again. Now don't go and get drunk on me and get us into trouble with
Mrs. Rapinski." The vision of Mrs. Rapinski coming upstairs to complain
about a drunken plant raising an uproar made Mary B. collapse into the
armchair and roll with laughter.
"A potted old lady is bad enough," she giggled, "but a potted plant
would rupture her."
That evening, having made her usual rounds, she was about to turn in
after her next-to-last beer when she remembered the talk show. Looking the
plant over, she was surprised to see that it appeared to be better than it had
been in the morning. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her, but it s,ure
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