I bought a plant

I thought I was all bad (and stuffs) with my stay-at-homeness and bought a plant. Flowers, actually. Well, potted flowers. Oh, I got it: a flowering potted plant, that's it. Doesn't matter, none of the above would be in existence any longer. Par for Mandy.

The Husband schmirked when he saw the goods. Oh they looked lovely at first, but he knew better. He asked simply "Why?". The short answer was I was hosting 3 events at home that week, and needed to kick up the joint a notch. A punch of hot-pink and foliage to splash a little happy through the windows. The long answer, inside my head, was that I wanted to try. Try again. As I do every 2 or so years when I get the itch during a spring of country club pretties surrounding us. An itch to attempt, to better myself. To be good at something other than what I'm already good at. I should see this itch for what it really is: an itch to murder, cuz that's what inevitably always happens.

Sadly, all that remains is, well, I think the pic speaks for itself. No, the cigarette butts didn't come with it. They were an afterthought. Gawd help these children of ours!