Our Love Fern is Dying
Our love fern is dying! You know, that first house plant that a couple buys together. It really doesn't have to be a fern. In fact, I have no idea what the hell kind of plant our love fern actually is. But I do know that it's supposed to be indestructible. Kind of like Jesus or Twinkies, maybe.
You have one too, don't you? You know, for years you don't even notice that it's there and you have no idea how it survives as neither of you ever admit to watering the fool thing. But after nearly half a decade of taking it totally for granted you wake up one day and realize that you kind of find its presence nice, comforting even, like oatmeal or lawn mower magazines. I mean, if you think about it, it's been with you both from almost the beginning. Longer than your favorite t shirt or episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer even. (In case you were wondering, mine is that god awful musical episode from season six. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a bad musical.) And one day you wake up and finally realize it for what it is; a marker of something vital and lovely in your life history. It's a visual reminder of a wonderful place in your relationship when it was new and squeaky clean. You remember, you used to actually get taken on dates then. And sometimes he even helped with the dishes. And right then you vow to take better care of it. Or at least to try and remember to water it once and a while.
And that, my friends, is exactly the moment that the damn thing starts to droop. And then it starts to turn yellow. And then, when most of it's leaves have finally finished turning that sickly, mushy looking shade of yellow, you know, the one that really doesn't look good with anyone's complexion, and most certainly doesn't go with your kitchen décor, that's when it's leaves start to turn brown and get all crusty. Now, admittedly, the brown crusty is an improvement in color and texture but you do realize that it doesn't really bode well for the health of your love fern. And somewhere in the midst of all this icky transformation you started to notice a weird whitish colored film spreading across the top of its soil.
And the more you try to care for it the worse it gets. And then you get pissed. And then you throw the damn thing away and replace it with a look alike all the while hoping Ross won't realize it but somehow hoping that he does. I mean, really, it is your love fern and all. You want him to bestow on it the same affection and care that you do, or did. But let's be real. Mostly you'd rather just get way with the switch. But just when you think that you've succeeded you look over at Ross only to see him eying the 'impostor' closely. And then he looks over at you and says, “That's not our love fern. What happened to our love fern? Did it die?” And your only response is “Aliens. It must have been aliens.”
All love ferns, disposal of love ferns, and Ross's appearing within these words are works of fiction and products of the author's imagination. They are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, persons or ferns, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Long Live Love!