Last Sunday marked 11 days since I had moved into the new apartment and 10 since the air conditioning broke down.
The big windows in the living room have joined forces with the morning sun to create a hothouse.
I leave in the morning with a wet shirt and the evenings are spent sitting at my computer, working and sweating into the couch. It's like Victoria Falls.
Luckily, the apartment came with some furniture and various other things (cheap cutlery, a vase of plastic pink roses, 6 nice large drinking glasses and an ugly tea set that only a granny could love). It also came with a lot of low maintenance plants.
I don't know how to water plants, or how frequently, so initially thought I'd wait for signs of yellow or brown to tell me it was time. Some people would call this neglect, but I prefer to call it Autumn.
However, even after 10 days of complete neglect the plants were holding up quite well. I assured myself that 'Plants must love hothouses', as I occasionally reminded myself to water them.
Last Sunday and I finally decided that it was time to act. I loaded up a large glass of water and headed for the tiny little plant on the ledge in my bathroom.
As I stooped down to water it something didn't seem quite right.
Then I realised.
It was plastic.
Just to be sure, I squinted it into a more recognisable form. Yep. Definitely plastic.
The dunny ensures that you don't get too close. Quite convincing from a distance.
I admonished myself slightly before realising what a terrific fake it was (at least from a distance) and gave it a little pat and a "well done nipper". (I really did.)
So I moved on to the plant in my bedroom. Didn't have to look to hard to realise that it, too, was a fake. The stem was good but the flowers were a bit ratty. I mustn't have ever really looked at it properly.
The other bathroom turned out to be housing another small, effective fake. So did the spare bedroom.
I finally turned to the living room to discover that the large palm in the corner was ALSO plastic. And I mean head-to-fucking-toe plastic, from arsehole to breakfast. I couldn't quite believe it and bit into on one of the leaves to be sure. It was a terrific fake, mind, but a fake nonetheless.
I'm ashamed to say that this one is pretty obvious but I still tried to water it.
I should have seen it coming. The vase full of plastic pink roses was a giveaway.
The cheery resilience of these plants under extreme heat conditions with no water was also a sure sign that something wasn't right. They were faking it - and doing a good job but I was eventually going to realise that they're not eating anything. This must be what it feels like to live with an alien. Or an anorexis.
So ... in summary ... for the past 11 days I have been foiled by foilage and surrounded by a hothouse of plastic plants.
On the plus side ... they look adequate from a distance and the palm looks great. They can easily survive in all climates (just like cockroaches). They will neither scatter dirt nor attract insects with Dengue Fever. They require no water or maintenance.
I'm keeping them.
Up close you'd never know. Srsly. The realistic fronds keep your eyes away from the shiny plastic stalk.
And as soon as I find a maid, I'm going to make her dust them.
So there.
[snaps]
