Thank you so much for the poinsettia you gave me yesterday, it was most unexpected. So unexpected that you didn't notice my face fall as you proudly presented it to me did you?
You see, it was only this week that I was congratulating myself on having spread the word about how much I hate the horrible pseudo "decorative" things. It's been 6 years since Nan died and stopped dishing the wretched things out every Christmas. I only took them from her because she was 94 and convinced that my daughter was a boy, so no amount of explanation was ever going to work on her.
But you! You should know better! I'm even half convinced that we've had the " how poinsettia's ruin Christmas" conversation many times before! Yet still you bring one to my door! Oooh, maybe you actually don't like me and its a deliberate ploy to ruin my Christmas?
No, I don't believe that. You may be dappy to the point of making me want to drink hemlock when I've been with you for more than 2 hours, but deep down, I believe that, as the grandmother of my children you don't really want to ruin my Christmas.
Therefore, I can only conclude that you have reached that certain age where you are compelled to purchase Poinsettia's for all your nearest and dearest and haven't even stopped to think about what you're doing.
You have put me in a horrible Christmas-spoiling position by your gift. You see, I kill the revolting things. Always have done.They just die on me, no matter what I do. Can't help it.You've just consigned me to three weeks of plant-saving misery, which will be in vain.It will die, slowly and painfully before my very eyes. Even now, I can feel the stupid thing starting to turn up its leafy pink toes and join all those who came before it on the compost heap. And that depresses me.
So I want you to know that I am going to kill it right now. I'm going to save myself the entire long drawn out process of watching it fade and drop all its crappy leaves all over my proper Christmas vegetation (Holly, Ivy, Evergreens..etc) by stripping it out of its nasty pot and hurling it gleefully into the compost today. It's kinder in the long run, really it is.
And when you come round during Christmas and ask me where it is, I will look you in the eye, try and look innocent and tell you sadly that it died suddenly quite soon after you gave it to me.