I seem to have entered a phase in my life where I give a shit about plants. I guess this means I’m old.
We got our new windows – they’re amazing, I’m so happy with them – and before the fitters arrived we had to clear everything off the windowsills. And when I was putting things back I decided to line the bay window in the sitting room with a few succulents that my mother had given me (because they’re hard to kill and she knows I’m neglectful), and it just looked so GOOD, you know? Very together. Grown up. And now I want more.
MORE GREEN THINGS. INSIDE THE HOUSE. GREEN THINGS THAT BELONG TO ME AND DO NOT DIE SLOW, DRY DEATHS. THIS IS FUTURE SUZY.
They make me happy. Who’d have thought? So now I want to get into them, whatever that means. I’ve ordered some more online (did you know that you could order plants online? I didn’t), including an airplant which, Pinterest tells me, is a plant that doesn’t need soil to grow. Revolutionary! So you can stick it to a rock or a wall or into a terrarium (cue my next obsession), and it’ll look all sculptural and amazing. Living art. So that’s exciting. Or not, depending on your age.
Oh! Oh! And the console table actually arrived. I say “actually” because I did a dodgy thing and ordered from a French site that doesn’t deliver to Ireland, using a UK Parcel Motel address. It was a bit of a gamble seeing as Parcel Motel usually deals with items that fit into small lockers loitering outside of Tesco. I was taking the piss a chance ordering a table. But a month later, it arrived, and it cost less than €30 for delivery and it came fully assembled! And massive! And the delivery driver was not at all amused. And I grinned at him and flirted shamelessly, or as well as one can when one hasn’t washed one’s hair and is covered in bits of baby food, and I said, “Oh, you mean it didn’t fit into a locker?”, and he glared at me and grumbled something offensive and then hauled the giant box into my hallway and I just wanted to laugh maniacally.
Mwahahaha.
And it’s perfect. I love it. I LOVE IT. It looks like it’s always been here, hovering behind the couch on its spindly legs which echo the legs of the yellow lamp and the spikes of the cactus. THE CACTUS!
And Brendan has been told that he’s not allowed to touch it or put anything on it or allow it to have any function at all, because it’s a DISPLAY TABLE, BRENDAN, DON’T TOUCH THOSE BOOKS. THEY’RE FOR LOOKING AT. BOOKS ARE NOT FOR READING, THEY’RE FOR SHOWING PEOPLE HOW SMART YOU COULD BE IF YOU READ THEM.
STOP READING.
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I’m on Facebook.
