Yes, blissful ignorance. It's how I would characterize the role I play in this relationship. I'm the sidekick. The Robin to his Batman. The Barney to his Andy. The Donkey to his Shrek. The Ron to his Harry. The Patrick to his Spongebob. Pardon, my geek is showing again. Also: Why is it that all the best sidekicks I could come up with were all male duos?
Anyway, I'm the background chick. He's the guy with all the plant smarts, and I'm just tagging along, occasionally handing off a spade or set of pruners to our hero, and providing witless entertainment. And that's pretty sad because I'm not all that entertaining. The point, however, is that I am decidedly NOT a plant geek. Not really. Not like him. That's all you really need to know.
But here's the rest of the story:
Being married to a bonafide plant geek, some of this plantial awareness (I made a new word!) tends to rub off on you, whether you realize it (or want it to) or not. As much as I may try to deny it, words and phrases like "variegated," "root system," "dormant," "taking a cutting," "spittlebug," and so forth have become ingrained in my vocabulary.
Yes, you have seen this before. Now you know what causes it.
So when someone says how they are confused about why their beautiful (tropical) plant thrived last summer but never came back... Or comments to a friend that they recently paid someone to prune their crepe myrtles (which now look like toothpick trees)... I admit that I cringe a little, and then I turn to another conversation. When someone comes to me and says that they really want Joe to come and look at their hostas because they aren't doing well and it doesn't make sense because they made sure to plant it where it would get plenty of sun, I just smile and say something like "I'm sure he could help you with that."
The reality is that I'm slowly being assimilated into the plantdom (I made another word!). My confession is that I know more about plants than I let on. But the point is that I don't let on. And I've plenty of excellent reasons why not, but here are just a few random ones:
Vague = annoying.
I've heard his stories about how he worked in a retail garden center and people would come in with vague questions and expect him to know all the answers. If you walk up to a garden center employee and say "I saw this vibrant red bush planted at the end of someone's driveway. Do you know what it is?" Well, odds are he may have an idea, but that's not much to go on. How many times have you asked a "plant person" about that random flower you saw growing on the side of the road? He probably asked you for more information, right? Where was it growing? Was it a dry area or a wet area? What color was the flower? Was it a lone flower, or in a cluster? Were there several flowers on the same plant? What kind of leaves did it have? How tall was it? Even an expert can only be as helpful as the questions posed to him. I really hate when people ask vague questions, and with all the diplomacy I pride myself on, I don't think it would end well. I leave those vague questions to him.
Now what?
I actually don't really enjoy talking about plants that much. There are a few that spark my interest, and sure I have a hard time walking out of a garden center empty-handed, but as a topic of conversation? Let's just say I prefer to tell Joe what I like and what I don't like, and let him figure out what works from that. If people were aware that I actually knew a thing or two about plants, they might start thinking that they could save time by talking to me instead of Joe. I'll spare you the awkwardness and inform you now: no matter how much I learn, you'll still save time by talking to Joe. I might know enough to tell you that you're doing it wrong, but I probably don't know enough to tell you exactly how to do it right. And those conversations get awkward and boring, fast.
For king and country.
Suppose I start to let on that I'm actually learning something by osmosis of being married to a plant geek. Imagine the chaos! All the single ladies (maybe the men too) would start looking for plant geeks as their potential mates so that they could all learn more about plants. It's like having a live-in teacher. No agriculture, botany, or horticulture degree for me, thanks. It's much more cost-effective to just know a plant person and slowly take in all the planty wisdom. Colleges would lose money, making it even more expensive for those taking other majors. Those other majors would have to charge consumers more for their services once they began working, in order to pay back the tremendous student loans. NC State and other schools with large plant-related departments would probably be forced to close their doors completely. Imagine the loss of jobs! There would be so many "homeschooled" plant peeps that the industry would be overrun with horticulturists and there would be more plant peeps than plant jobs. There would be a garden center on every corner, and eventually the overabundance of plants would result in a jungle-like environment of invasive species and vigorous reseeders. Simply by giving people the impression that I'm learning something just by being married to a plant geek could lead to a societal and economical collapse!
So yes, as far as you know, I'm just the sidekick and I don't really know anything about plants. For society's sake and well-being, I'll continue to smile, listen, and politely direct your questions to Joe. Only you who have read this blog will know and understand the importance of my feigned ignorance, and the gravity of my necessary silence. That's just the way it has to be.
Only you can stop crepe murder.
The reality is that I'm slowly being assimilated into the plantdom (I made another word!). My confession is that I know more about plants than I let on. But the point is that I don't let on. And I've plenty of excellent reasons why not, but here are just a few random ones:
Vague = annoying.
I've heard his stories about how he worked in a retail garden center and people would come in with vague questions and expect him to know all the answers. If you walk up to a garden center employee and say "I saw this vibrant red bush planted at the end of someone's driveway. Do you know what it is?" Well, odds are he may have an idea, but that's not much to go on. How many times have you asked a "plant person" about that random flower you saw growing on the side of the road? He probably asked you for more information, right? Where was it growing? Was it a dry area or a wet area? What color was the flower? Was it a lone flower, or in a cluster? Were there several flowers on the same plant? What kind of leaves did it have? How tall was it? Even an expert can only be as helpful as the questions posed to him. I really hate when people ask vague questions, and with all the diplomacy I pride myself on, I don't think it would end well. I leave those vague questions to him.
Now what?
I actually don't really enjoy talking about plants that much. There are a few that spark my interest, and sure I have a hard time walking out of a garden center empty-handed, but as a topic of conversation? Let's just say I prefer to tell Joe what I like and what I don't like, and let him figure out what works from that. If people were aware that I actually knew a thing or two about plants, they might start thinking that they could save time by talking to me instead of Joe. I'll spare you the awkwardness and inform you now: no matter how much I learn, you'll still save time by talking to Joe. I might know enough to tell you that you're doing it wrong, but I probably don't know enough to tell you exactly how to do it right. And those conversations get awkward and boring, fast.
For king and country.
Suppose I start to let on that I'm actually learning something by osmosis of being married to a plant geek. Imagine the chaos! All the single ladies (maybe the men too) would start looking for plant geeks as their potential mates so that they could all learn more about plants. It's like having a live-in teacher. No agriculture, botany, or horticulture degree for me, thanks. It's much more cost-effective to just know a plant person and slowly take in all the planty wisdom. Colleges would lose money, making it even more expensive for those taking other majors. Those other majors would have to charge consumers more for their services once they began working, in order to pay back the tremendous student loans. NC State and other schools with large plant-related departments would probably be forced to close their doors completely. Imagine the loss of jobs! There would be so many "homeschooled" plant peeps that the industry would be overrun with horticulturists and there would be more plant peeps than plant jobs. There would be a garden center on every corner, and eventually the overabundance of plants would result in a jungle-like environment of invasive species and vigorous reseeders. Simply by giving people the impression that I'm learning something just by being married to a plant geek could lead to a societal and economical collapse!
Plants gone wild...er?
So yes, as far as you know, I'm just the sidekick and I don't really know anything about plants. For society's sake and well-being, I'll continue to smile, listen, and politely direct your questions to Joe. Only you who have read this blog will know and understand the importance of my feigned ignorance, and the gravity of my necessary silence. That's just the way it has to be.
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