I will love thee and cherish thee until the day I...accidentally kill you.
Years ago while in college, I sublet a flat from a very sweet British woman for a few months. The only thing she asked of me, aside from a large monthly rent, was to water the single plant on top of the cabinet in the living room. "Once a week or when the dirt feels dry," was her instruction. As I was so grateful to have found a place to live for such a short time period, I was determined to care for this plant like it was my first born. You can guess where this is going.
It was similar to a spider plant, but not a spider plant. It had longish leaves that I had to be careful not to smush in the cabinet door when I shut it, and I had to stand on a chair to reach it. This cabinet was actually more like a three sided facade to hide the flat's water heater. Beneath the heater oddly enough, make shift shelves were put up. These were essential because there was no closet in the living room, aka my bedroom. My roommate won the actual bedroom with a real closet in a coin toss. I'm sure you can guess where this is going as well.
After a few weeks of dutifully caring for the plant, I realized I couldn't remember the last time I had watered it. Was it last week? Or 2 days ago? Sunday? Thursday maybe? So I felt the dirt. It felt dry. I went to the kitchen, filled a glass of water and poured it between the leaves.
Here's the twist. Apparently it had had enough to drink.
Thirty seconds later the entire glass of water filtered through the dirt, out the bottom of the pot, down the front and side of the cabinet as well as through the crack in the door, soaking everything.
It was yellow. And it smelled.
The plant pissed all over my clothes.
All I wanted was to care for it, you know?