About two weeks ago, my wife was walking around the house, watering the plants. As she was watering each one, she leaned in close and said something like, "Coochie-coochie choo you like a dwink of water, baby? You thirsty? Here you go sweetie. Drink it all up for mommy!"
I found this to be particularly funny, and I mentioned it. She stated that her mother always talked like that to her plants, and they were always thriving. I mentioned the Mythbusters episode where it was shown talking to plants didn't really matter.
To prove my point, I walked up to the largest plant in our living room, a tree thing with leaves that we've had for eons. I got up real close and said in my meanest voice: "I hate you, you stupid, ugly tree. I hope you die a terrible, painful death. I hope all your leaves fall right off, and I hope you disappear from this world to never be remembered."
You can probably see where this is going.
R.I.P.
Two weeks later, the tree is dead. Dead, dead, dead. All our other plants are fine, but not the tree. We've had the thing for years, and it's never had a problem, and now it's dead. I murdered it.
The leaves are still green, but they are dry as a bone. You touch them, and they fall right off. They crumble in your hands.
I always wondered what it felt like to be a murderer. Now I know.
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