We’re growing mushrooms at the moment which kind of makes my skin crawl, so I thought I would share something a little creepy for hump day. Recently, Julie took me to California Carnivores, a carnivorous plant nursery. She knows weird plants spook me out, but she thought I’d like it. I think she did it because she wanted to see me squirm.
That’s what marriage does to a person.
The folks who ran the nursery had the same warped sense of humor. Skeletal body parts were scattered over the displays. Gruesome monster busts poked up from the ground. Bats and other winged creatures dangled from the rafters. I think you get the gist. Nice people by the way.
I’m okay with Venus flytraps, they seem quite normal, but it’s those flesh dissolving pitcher plants and the sticky honeydew things that creep me out. I don’t even like the touch of an orchid.
It got me wondering why. They’re plants. It’s not like they can uproots and chase after me. Though, at the back of my mind, I believe there is some South American plant that can walk, but it’s no Carl Lewis.
But there is a flesh eating plant–although it is only fictional–and it is there I lay blame. The first horror movie I ever saw was THE DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS starring Howard “bless my beautiful hide” Keel. I was six and the dramatic score woke me, so I padded downstairs and sat with my mum and watched it on the telly. To this day, I can still picture with perfect clarity the first triffid breaking free of its planter box in the botanical gardens to claim its human victim.
No wonder I don’t trust any plant with any sort of powers beyond that of a lettuce.