My daughter always has a conniption whenever she comes home and finds George and Fern in the shower.
"Mom! Get them outta here!" she shrieks in her highly annoyed, gotta-have-my-privacy way.
I think she's being a little inconsiderate, myself. I take showers with George and Fern all the time and they're always very companionable, always pleasant company. And they like the warm water and steam as well as I do.
George and Fern are my two Boston ferns named after my husband's uncle and aunt, George and Fern Bambauer. Surely in this enlightened age there is no reason to explain why someone would name his plants, but in case you're not enlightened I will tell you: It's so they will know which one I'm talking to when we have a conversation.
Surely in this enlightened age there's no need to explain why somebody would talk to his plants. Scientific research in the late '60s, early '70s proved conclusively that plants who are paid attention to, plants who are talked to by their owners do much better, physically as well as psychologically, than plants who are ignored.
True, the scientists who did the experiments back in those days were high on drugs, but I think their results are still acceptable.
Anyway, I've been talking to my plants for years, and naturally, when you have that kind of relationship with someone you have to give it a name.
I tend to name plants after people they remind me of. I have a jade plant named Indira Ghandi, two geraniums named A.P. and Mother Mabel Carter, and a Venus flytrap named Bob Dole.
I have an herb pot in which I've planted some coriander seeds that sprouted, but have just never really come up right. I've named them the Republican Freshmen.
Surely in this enlightened age there's no need to label people who name inanimate objects as nutso. I know people who name their cars, their computers, even their lawnmowers.
One day I was visiting some friends, who also name inanimate objects, as the father arrived home and triggered the automatic garage door opener.
"There goes Carol," said one of the little girls as the garage door slowly raised.
Geez, I thought. They even named their garage door.
As it turned out, Carol was the father's secretary who drove by just as the garage
door was going up.
The point is, we can live as virtual strangers among our plants, our garage doors, our kitchen utensils,
or we can give them names and actually build relationships with them.
Frankly I find inanimate objects make wonderful companions.
They're always there, willing to listen to your problems, they never make judgmental comments or gossip behind your back and they don't ask to borrow money.
The best thing is, if you get tired of them you can get rid of them at a yard sale or dump them in the garbage.
So if you visit my house and find George and Fern sitting in the shower, just go ahead and introduce yourself.
George and Fern won't mind a bit.