I learned how to kill Soviet hardware. Kill it all was the mantra we breathed. "Oh go and kill some of the green things in the garden," she said and it almost sounds like a plan. Of course, to me, they're all green. I will take a mower to the garden without remorse but it doesn't feel quite right. She wanted some of them to live. She, for some reason, still believes I know which ones.
The Green thumb is not an inheritable trait. Two of my great grandfathers were great nursery men who supplied the grand estates in the Hudson Valley and NYC with plants and green things. They owned plant farms. Not one iota of that rubbed off on me. I inherited the military stuff from the other side. Point me at a gardening problem and I'll ask for a flamethrower.
It is taking her awhile to figure that out. We'll have plenty of daylight when we get home tonight. I'm OK with killing plants but I'm gonna need some terminal guidance on which ones need to be destroyed. Sheesh, fall in love with a biologist.