Plant Chat

Though Phil the Philodendron, who resides inside his Human’s dining room windows, does not possess ears, he boasts excellent hearing. Phil stores up blackmail material to use when she starts talking compost pile.

Today, however, the Human is chained to her laptop. Probably will behave all day. Bor-ing. So, Phil eavesdrops on twin daffodils in the flower bed outside the Human’s dining room windows.

DAFFY THE DAFFODIL: Beautiful day! I thought spring would never come.

DIPPY [nodding her frilly, yellow head] It was like March 20 had been voted off the calendar. But now, no more snow. No more ice. Just sunny days and gentle rain.

PHIL: Don’t bet on it. DAFFY AND DIPPY: Who are you? PHIL: Come on. You know me. [Flips open the window with a flick of his leaf.] We talked last March —

DIPPY: Now, I remember. You’re Phil the Philodendron.

DAFFY: Yep. [Under his breath] Though every spring, I try to repress you.

PHIL [who heard that]: You two really think it’s spring?

DIPPY: Sure. Pussy willows are budding. Birds are singing. Track teams dash along our street wearing shorts —

PHIL: Those kids would wear shorts in Antarctica.

DAFFY: Besides, Dippy and I are definite signs of spring.

PHIL: Big deal. One “spring,” you showed up before the year’s worst ice storm. Power went out. [Whining] I froze my buds off.

DIPPY AND DAFFY: Poor baby! DAFFY: It’s not like we have central heat out here.

PHIL: Hey, I didn’t complain as much as the Humans. I thought they were going to wilt and die when they couldn’t watch basketball tourneys. DIPPY: What’s basketball? PHIL: I told you last year. Basketball’s a noncontact sport played by people who bleed a lot. And in Indiana, March weather is controlled by basketball.

DAFFY: Seriously?

PHIL: Sure. Tourney time has proved the Weather Channel wrong so many times, those experts don’t base forecasts on science. They give up and predict blizzards.

DIPPY: You don’t understand. We can’t have a blizzard now.

DAFFY [to PHIL]: Don’t you believe in the equinox?

PHIL: Why do I waste my time talking to you? [Turns to a shamrock inside a nearby window.] Well, hello-o. You’re new here, aren’t you? What’s your name?

SHAMROCK: My Human calls me Sinead. Irish, you know.

PHIL: I know. She buys a shamrock every St. Patrick’s Day—

SHAMROCK #2: And tries her best to kill it by the following St. Patrick’s Day. Take warning, Sinead. After a year of her TLC, I have two leaves left, and one’s turning yellow. By the way, my name’s Shannon. Will you do my eulogy?

PHIL (sees SINEAD’S lovely flowers wilting): Don’t listen to her. She’s jealous because you’re beautiful. Stop griping, Shannon. At least, the Human doesn’t toss you out after a month like she does poinsettias.

DAFFY: