He’s quite a looker. His smooth leaves and emerald hues evoke a rich, shady world. So I cut him some slack. The rest of the plot was dishevelled; he was a pretty face.
But now, he’s overstepped the mark. He’s got fat on my affections: he’s become a shrub. He dwarfs the other plants, empowered by his position beside the manure heap. It’s time to end this doomed relationship. Before it’s too late.