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ONLY ONE FOOLPROOF SOLUTION FOR THIS CHRISTMAS GIFT
My topic this week is one of the touchier, more sensitive issues I've had to deal with as a Master Gardener. I decided to write this column as a preventive measure, so the Herald office won't be flooded with letters addressed to me from perplexed readers unsure of how to deal with this post-Christmas horticultural dilemma.
I'm speaking, of course, of what to do now that you're the owner of a new Chia Pet.
As a Master Gardener, I've been trained to offer counsel not only of a horticultural nature, but also to help you deal with some of the emotional and psychological swings you'll experience as a new Chia Pet owner.
Lest you think I lack the proper credentials, I hastily add that I have owned a Chia Pet, I have raised it to adulthood, and I experienced many of the emotional highs and lows that you now face in the weeks and months ahead.
The emotional gyrations of Chia Pet ownership begin as early on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day as your family opens its presents. I mean, there you are, seated between your aunt and a nephew, maybe holding a toddler on your knee. Other people are opening hand-knit scarves, spiffy new toys, Swiss Army knives and sparkling jewelry.
No you though. Lurking inside the bright Santa paper on your lap is your very first, pudgy, porcelain Chia Pet.
"Oh look at the scarf Billy got - it's beautiful," someone exclaims. This particular gift benefits two people. Billy thinks it's a pretty neat scarf, and Aunt Carol reaps the reward of knowing she crafted one of the nicer garments unwrapped this entire holiday season.
"Wow, look at all the blades on this Swiss Army knife," your nephew beams, and everybody marvels at his good fortune and conjures up images of the adventures he'll have next summer on his camping outings.
And then all eyes are on you as you pull the carton out of the Santa wrapping. "What did you get?" three voices ask at once. Panic sets in. What do you say? You contemplate stuffing the box under your sweater, but this won't make the problem go away.
"I got a...a...Chia frog," you respond meekly. A Chia frog. For Christmas!
Eventually the gift opening winds down and your Chia frog gets momentarily forgotten under your chair. Sadly, your dilemma has just begun. The days and weeks that follow cause your anxiety and confusion to skyrocket.
I am sorry to report that there is a level of fear packaged into every Chia Pet carton. Stated simply, it's the fear of failure. Thousands, maybe millions have failed before you and - even though you've never even owned a Chia Pet - you are somehow subconsciously aware of this statistic.
You're thinking, "What if I follow the directions to the letter and my Chia Pet doesn't grow?" Will this label you a bad person? Will failure to sprout thick green fur (on a frog?) be painful for the chubby critter? Will it bring someone from the Humane Society knocking at your door?
This fear can totally dominate your waking hours and even cause restless sleep. You can be at work and a co-worker may have to say your name two, three times before you realize you're being spoken to.
"What? Oh, sorry. I guess I was worrying about a problem at home," you say, not daring to reveal the personal nature of this problem. "It's nothing," you mutter, and try to focus on your co-worker's question.
I've just scratched the surface on what Chia Pet ownership is all about. Crisis counseling may be in order.
As an experienced Chia Pet owner, I can offer only one foolproof solution. Soon as you have some private time, pick out some festive leftover wrapping paper and re-wrap your Chia Pet as nicely as you can. Then take it to work with you and discreetly set it on the desk of your human resources director with a note: "For Christmas 1997 Employee Gift Exchange."
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PUTTING DOWN ROOTS:
A Delightful Blend of
Gardening Wisdom, Wit
and Whimsy
$10 + $2 for shipping
by Cliff Johnson |
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