I inherited my brown thumb from my mother.

I wish like crazy I liked to do yardwork, but the truth is, I just don’t. I like my yard to look nice and all, but if I get anywhere near green bushes, they will die. I know the plants at Walmart cringe when I walk by. They’d rather stay in the orphanage than go home with me and meet certain death.

“Here she comes!” they scream to each other. “Try to look sick!” Pity the poor plants that don’t get the message.

I have lots of green plants inside my house, though. They’re all fake. I know I can grow those kind. If only they made silk plants that would hold up outside, they’d make a fortune off me.

This week, I helped the drill team booster club with the annual poinsettia sale. We unloaded and distributed over 700 of the babies, and as expected, there were a few that didn’t make it in one piece. So one of the ladies was telling us how if a stem breaks, you can plant it and it will take root.  I tried that last year and wound up with a bunch of rotting, stinking stuff.  She also said that you could plant the whole poinsettia outside. I’ve tried that, too. Dead within days.

I don’t think any of these things really work, but these hateful people start these vicious tales of propagating plants to make people like me feel totally inadequate. The only thing I’m really successful at growing is mold on cheese. Well, really, I can grow mold on just about anything.

One time my mom bought half a dozen tomato plants and put them in clay pots on her back patio. Five of them did not do so well … as each day passed, they looked sicker and sicker, and nothing my mother did seemed to help. One, however, flourished. My mother nurtured it, fed it fertilizer, talked to it. It grew tall and healthy, but never flowered or bore tomatoes. She was so dismayed. One day a friend of ours (who has a green thumb) was visiting, so she asked for his expert advice on the non-bearing plant. He walked over to it, stroked its leaves, and studied it for the longest time.

“I know what the problem is,” he said. “That’s not a tomato plant. It’s a weed.”

My mom stared at him in disbelief She was in shock. We hugged her and gently walked her over to the couch to recuperate. We patted her knee and told her it would be okay. We offered to buy her a new tomato plant, but she would hear none of it.

I don’t suppose they make silk tomato plants. I think it would make a nice Christmas gift.