My dad came home from work...tired. He stomped into the house and plunked down on a chair. I was sitting at the table, staring dumbly at my homework.
"Better water your plant. It's dying." He said.
"What plant?" I asked blankly. I really didn't care. Besides, most of my plants suffered because of my lack of memory concerning their existence; and at that moment despairing over my homework was much more dire then saving a plant.
A few hours later I got up for a break and looked out the window. A small plant which we had just bought a few days ago was withering away in the harsh sun, it's leaves and flowers faded.
I went out, grabbed it, and threw it in the sink. "Here you go." I said as I turned the faucet on full-blast and soaked it in a cool, wet shower.
My poor plants had a lot of experience with my forgetfuleness. As a little kid, I can remember forgetting almost every week to water my poor plant "Larry." When he was so withered I was sure he wouldn't make it, my little brain would prompt me to grab a bucket, fill it with water, and place Larry, pot and all, into it for a long bath.
Usually, in a few hours he was green as could be. I have no idea how that plant came back about a hundred times.
A few minutes later I went back into the bathroom and found my plant in there, it's flowers and leaves fresh and glowing.