All's Fair in Love and War

This lovely little number was a special gift to me from a friend. He calls it our love-fern. I call it grounds for termination.

It all started back in December of 2006.

There was a white elephant gift exchange and someone ended up receiving an ugly, yellow, ceramic cornucopia.

Somehow the cornucopia ended up in my gift bag and went home with me.

I could have just thrown it away. But instead I decided to exact revenge on the man who forced his cornucopia on me.

I waited a few months and then with the help of an accomplice, we struck. We hid the yellow object of offense deep within the cavity of the under-stairs closet in his house.

Fast forward about three or four months. I'm at his house. It's late at night and time for me to go home. One of the house residents offers to go pull my car up into the driveway for me. I'm touched by this gesture and hand over my keys.

The next day I go grocery shopping. I open the trunk of my car . . . and see the bleeping cornucopia hiding demurely behind a box! I shake my fist at the sky and realize this means full-out WAR.

Clearly I have to come up with something that will be very difficult to top. This is no longer a game for amateurs.

Then it hits me. The PLAN.

Step 1: Obtain a cardboard box

Step 2: Wrap cornucopia in tissue and newspaper and pack it into the box

Step 3: Obtain proper mailing address

Step 4: Go to UPS store

Step 5: Have box shipped directly to my nemesis' office

Step 6: Imagine the look on his face when he opens the package

Step 7: Revel in glory

Of course, I figured there would be retribution. But I heard nothing. He said not a word. So I said not a word. It was a battle of the wills. Eventually, someone revealed to me that the cornucopia was broken in transit. The Cornucopia Wars had come to an end. I was victorious.

Fast forward several more months. It's my birthday. A few of my closest friends are gathered for dinner. One of them appears to be giddy with excitement to see me open my gifts. He hands me a huge gift bag and I can see the bright-red blooms of a kalanchoe sticking out of the top. He knows how much I like plants. What a sweet and thoughtful gift. I pull out all the tissue paper and look into the bag . . . and my jaw drops. I look up and tell him I hate him while pulling the freakin' cornucopia (complete with broken, taped-on handle) out of the bag. He planted the kalanchoe in it.

Then he informs me that this kalanchoe is a cutting from a plant that his mother received when he was born. It's very special. He considers it our love-fern and will be deeply hurt if the plant doesn't thrive and grow.

So it's now sitting on my porch with the other plants. I give it plenty of attention and take special care of it because, after all, I have plans for its future.