Confessions of a non-green consumer

We are always slightly surprised that we are allowed to live in our neighborhood without owning a dog, or a cat, or even so much as a SIMS pet. I am sure that after we moved in, the association board members debated about the legality of owners not having some sort of pet. They must have pored over the association rules, scratched their heads, and finally admitted that somehow we had slipped in under an egregious loophole, and moved quickly to amend the rules so that such a oversight was never again allowed to happen.


But there is another social breach that we are guilty of, one that is even more egregious.


In an increasingly green community, and indeed society, we are not green.


I confess that I do not automatically search out organic products for my garden. Or organic products to clean my toilet. (Actually I did, once, and the smell made me sneeze so uncontrollably that I went back to Super-Acting Lysol Toilet Bowl Cleaner/Environment Destroyer.) I set out pellets to kill slugs in the garden, pellets that work in a manner that Guantanamo officials might be interested in knowing about.


But because we like where we live, and we respect our neighbors even though they would be horrified if they knew what we harbored in our cupboards, we do not, in general, advertise our non-greenness. 


My sister recently came for a weekend for some sisterly bonding. I will admit that I took advantage of this time of bonding to press her into service planting flowers with me in the back yard. Flowers that, yes, I drove many miles out of my way to get rather than shopping at a local nursery.


While I dug holes for the plants, she went to get a bucket of compost. It may come as a surprise that I use compost. It will probably not come as a surprise that I buy it in a large plastic bag that will probably take thousands of millennia to break down.


She turned over the bag of compost, and suddenly the peacefulness of the morning was shattered.


"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" she yelped.


"What is it?" I said. I expected a slug. A wolf spider. A tarantula, maybe.


"Ants!" she yelled back. "Miles and miles of ants!" She dance around frantically. "Where's the Raid?? We have to spray them!" 


Unfortunately at this juncture, a neighbor happened to stop by to see what we were doing. Possibly she had also stopped by to see whether we were planting any nonnative flowers, which might be cause to turn me in to the gardening club, or the homeowners' association, or maybe even the FBI. I do not utter the names of chemicals in this individual's presence. I do not admit to harboring anything that is not 130% organic, local, and safe for the environment in her presence. 


"Ha ha!" I said to my sister, but for this individual's benefit. "The ants are outside. No need to bother them," I said breezily, in what I hoped was a tone that would convince her I had nothing to do with this madwoman about to commit mass murder of innocents in my yard.


She looked dubious, but eventually turned to move on, and when she did I went over to my sister and quietly, calmly, explained the situation.


"What are you DOING??" I said. "Trying to get me kicked out of the neighborhood? Listen," I said, lowering my voice, "there are people here who are seriously Anti-Chemical. You can't say those things out loud here."


"I can't say what? 'Raid?' "


"Shhhh!" I hissed, looking around furtively.


She stared at me as if organic pesticides had clouded my good judgment. 


"You work for a conservancy!" I said. "You know what I'm talking about."


She did, and she was quiet for a bit. Then she whispered, "Can I go get the Raid now?"


While I made sure the coast was clear, she dispatched the ants. "There, THAT'S done," she said with relief. "But I really think you should put some weed killer down."


Henceforth, our bonding time might have to be spent inside. With doors closed tight, and all the curtains drawn.