Hardy Plants

The Contessa makes unnaounced visit to new office, bearing pretty jade plant in pretty blue earthenware pot, and stack of mail. Says, jerking her head at the mail, I'm sure you don't want this, but the new secretary at the arts instute refused to throw it out. She got snippy with me and told me that it was a federal crime. The Contessa rolls her eyes, Can you believe her? How many tons of mail have we thrown out over the years? Have inwardly been arrested arraigned, put on trial, and sentenced to mimimum security prison in Kentucky before regain composure and am able to glance at mail. It is, indeed, all junk and throw it immediatly into the recycling bin. Admire jade plant. The Contessa says that the man at the plant store said it was basically unkillable (very much doubt this) and that he gave her very strict instructions not to water it more than once a month. Notice that dirt in pot very very wet (actually, so wet that not actually contained in pot and runs across desk, soaking important file of octogenarian sex fiend Big Fish and am forced to make acquaintence of Xerox machine, in what--in moment--feels like Alias level of document recreation.) Ask about wetness. Oh, the Contessa replies, when she got it back from the plant store it looked a little droopy so she gave it a little sip. Feel that plant is not long for this world. The Contessa moves on to topic Cindy Stevens and gets right down to it. Do you like her? Tell her that can't say yet. She frowns, Can't say? Does she have any weird habits? Has she asked you do do anything inappropriate? Tell her that as yet Cindy remains a mystery and remind her that not all bosses are like the Vice-boss who is, shall we say, an open book. The Contessa agrees, says firmly that she would go so far as to say that the Vice-Boss is an open book with its underwear hanging out.