Okay, maybe I was taking things too fast with the suggestion that we consider ourselves brother and sister.
Let’s back up and punt here: how about considering me a friend? A distant friend, perhaps. A friend you don’t particularly like but have been forced together with via circumstances out of your control, possibly. A frenemy even.
Come on. Give in. Let the grudge go and come out from behind the weeping fig.
It’s fake, you know.
It’s better that way. They’re really fussy. My mother had one when I was a kid. She moved it ten feet across the room and it dropped all it’s leaves and died.
African violets are the same way. I wont’ even look them in the eye at the grocery store because they’re likely to start wilting and drooping on the spot. Kind of like you. Hiding. Sulking. Making me feel bad and stuff.
Fine. I’m sick of trying. Have it your way. The outdoor FERAL cats come running at the sight of me. They let me pet them. They seem happy to see me. You?