Faking It

Remember when I said that I am unable to sustain life of the botanical kind? I wasn’t exaggerating. Thus explains my obsession with fake florals. Don’t get me wrong – there is a time and a place for the real thing. Like at my wedding, supplied by a professional florist. For all other occasions, artificial substitutes get the job done.

For example, you might recall this pink peonyesque impostor from the guest bedroom post:

True story –  when we moved, Scott called the flowers hideous and tried to throw them out. In front of my mom. Who bought it for us in the first place. Ouch. Then again, if Scott was decorating, this would be a vase filled with pizza or beer.

We also have this hydrangeas wannabe on our bathroom counter:

They’ve outlived three different bath mats. I think that puts them up there with skinny jeans in terms of longevity.

Fakes aren’t limited to the upper level. Oh no, we love our plastic pretties downstairs too. They range from the traditional (a cute end of year gift from a lovely student)…

…to the nutritional.

At the very least, you have to appreciate how many times those lemons have been used in party tricks. And by party tricks, I mean used as fake boobs. Actually, I think they have been used twice (and no, neither time involved me). Still, that’s two times more than any real flowers we’ve had in the house. Totally worth the $4.