When You Care Enough to Send the Very Least

When I arrived home from work yesterday afternoon, I saw a tiny (2" diameter) flowerpot containing a dead plant on the front porch, next to my (live) ones. The tag calls it a Balfouriana Aralia (correct botanical name, if you care, in the link).

Perhaps someone saw my gardening prowess and thought they'd contribute a gift, but then I didn't water it and it died. Perhaps, but since it wasn't there the day before, I know it wasn't lack of water on my part which killed it.

Perhaps someone knows of my horticultural prowess and thought I could save it. Perhaps, but I'm not Dr. Fronkensteen, and I can't revive dead tissue. (The other question is who hates me enough to give me a dead plant as a gift?)

Speaking of Frankenstein ("Nice blend, Fozzie. Thank you, Fozzie."), Thing One and I ate breakfast at Aretha Frankenstein's on Sunday morning. (We got there just before the crowd, and they actually had a second cook arrive, so the interminable wait for one's food suddenly became much more terminable.) I like the Polish eggs, and the omelettes are good, but I decided to try something different. I ordered the Elephants Gerald ("Our Belgian waffle topped with Vanilla Ice Cream, Pecans in Syrup, and dusted with Cinnamon"). I had wondered why they chose such a strange and inappropriate name for a Belgian waffle with pecans, until I spoke my order to the waiter.

Still don't get it? Try saying it out loud.

Still don't get it? God, you're younger than I thought! (sigh)