You may have noticed, Dear Breeder, the few times you unwittingly found yourself in the home of a homosexual, that things there seemed somehow greener, the oxygen fresher, the air a delicate symphony, lilting with exotic fragrances. You probably suspect that these are all byproducts of the deal we collectively struck with the forces of evil: eternal youth and limitless visual and olfactory splendor, in return for a godless lifestyle and eternal damnation. Well, you’re only half right, Dear Breeder. The homes of gay men smell sweeter simply because of our love of houseplants! The eternal damnation thing, however, may or may not (or may) actually come to pass.
The fact of the matter is that we gays have a rich history of surrounding ourselves with living organisms of beauty, which continuously remind us of the impermanence and fragility of life, and of all the things we could conceivably fill our shopping carts with in the Lowe’s Home and Garden section. And, bottom line: a houseplant makes for an infinitely more appealing boyfriend than an actual boyfriend ever would.
“Mom, Dad: I’d like you to meet Tino.”
A houseplant, for example, Dear Breeder, is always there, waiting happily when you get home. A houseplant never fields mysterious phone calls in the next room, safely out of eavesdropping range. A houseplant never talks back or has contrary opinions or expects you to get to know his parents. And, most importantly, a houseplant never gets tired of watching you masturbate on the couch with only the flickering light from the tv to illuminate your pathetic and sad ritual.
Furthermore, a plant asks very little of its owner-operator in return for its many household contributions of colorful stimulus and inexpensive aromatherapy. In fact, many of the so-called “chores” of indoor gardening are actually things gay people enjoy, and would most likely be doing anyway. We like checking to see if soil is dry. We like dusting flat, waxy surfaces one by one with a damp cloth. And, I’m not going to lie to you here, Dear Breeder: gay men love to be seen carrying a watering can around from room to room.
“I love to be seen carrying a watering can around from room to room.”
What you may not realize, Dear Breeder, is that despite the lack of legal recognition for same-sex marriages in the majority of this country, many states actually do recognize, protect, and sanctify the rights of houseplants to marry whomever they see fit. We gays and lesbians know when to keep our mouths shut, and instead choose to honor the wise leadership and thoughtful architecture of this nation’s complicated system of laws and by-laws by holding simple, yet elegant and tastefully-appointed ceremonies for our potted friends, often in our own living rooms or church assembly halls.
“I now pronounce you plant and plant.”
This certainly gives us something to look forward to, Dear Breeder, as we search to fill our empty, selfish days. And, until such time as we can finally replace our ad hoc, floral family units with bona fide, legally-sanctioned family units, we gays are more than happy to visit our houseplants in the hospital rather than our loved ones, to attend their family birthdays and holiday celebrations without having to face the derisive sneers of Cousin Jerry, and to collect their worker’s comp when one of our leafy lovers “accidentally” takes a tumble off the windowsill.
Breeder's Digest 