Being married to a professional botanist has its ups and downs. It’s nice on day hikes, for instance, having someone around who can instantly identify every plant we see. On the other hand, I don’t need to be notified of every ecological incongruence in the films we watch. The Queen spent much of the Lord of the Rings trilogy leaning over to me in the theater and whispering, “pfff, I can see why they call this a fantasy–they have polystichum munitum growing in a tropical upland climatic zone.”
Last night we went to a wreath-making party last night. Our host provided us with wire frames, fir boughs, holly, and pine cones; before dinner, while I read stories to Squiggle and put him to bed, everyone else got all elfy in the garage.
At the end of the evening we collected our wreath. Ours, while beautiful, was the least ornate of the bunch, consisting only of boughs. As we carried a sleeping Squiggle out to the car, I asked The Queen about this.
Me: Why didn’t you put holly in our wreath?
Queen: Because holly berries are poisonous, and when Squiggle saw them he pointed excitedly and yelled “cherries!”
M: Ah, good call. But what about the pine cones? You could have put a few of those on there.
Q: No I couldn’t. They were the wrong kind.
M: What do you mean?
Q: The boughs were from one species of tree and the pine cones were from another. It would look weird to have them on the same wreath.
M: What, seriously? Nobody would know but you.
Q: Yes, it would look weird to me. That’s what I’m saying.
M: Oh, come on. What’s the big deal?
Q: Let me put this into terms you can understand: imagine if you went to a Star Trek convention and saw a bunch of people dressed as Jedi.
M: Oh, god. Right. Gotcha.