I have a tree.
I’ve had a Ficus tree since college. The thing is kind of old. It needed to be repotted, pruned… it’s looking pretty sad right now. Blaine and I looked at pots, but none caught my eye. I clicked over page after page on Amazon. (Thanks to a Amazon Prime membership, compliments of my sister-in-law, 20 gallon pots ship two-day free. Who would have thought?!)
Nothing. Then Blaine found one locally, bought it for me, and brought it home. He even got me purple. And then the (in)famous words were spoken.
“It’s not self watering. But I’ve been looking online, and I think I can make something.”
I nodded, smiled, and I’m sure my eyes got a little bit glazed over. Couldn’t we just put rocks at the bottom like my mother always did?
Oh, no. Certainly not. Yesterday morning I was called into the garage to see the product of all the bumping and scraping and drilling I’d heard.
I’m quite certain I did not make over the invention nearly so much as he desired. It’s a former goat-watering tub, my friends. Re-purposed. I cannot smell the buck’s eu de billy, so all’s good. But is this really necessary?
I’ll be the first to admit. It’ looks lovely. Ten times better. I still think the rocks at the bottom trick would have worked and been far less work. But then I wouldn’t have been able to write this post, and all of you wouldn’t understand, on a really small scale, the kind of guy I married.
Who am I kidding? I’m not sure I understand either. We’re opposites, that’s all I know. That, and he makes me look really, really lazy when he does something like this.