Some people are exceedingly comfortable to be around, it doesn't seem to matter if there is a pile of newspapers on the table, or the floor needs a good sweep. They don't see the mess, or the smudgy paw prints from Bootsie on the patio door. They are comfortable in their skins. And accepting of whatever it is that we get up to when they are not here. They get to see my real garden. And then there are the others, the one's who have that X-ray vision, and can find the dirty sock under the bed at 50 paces. I don't let those into my garden without a full scale cleanup. Out comes the water hose, every plant gets a good soak. Spider's busily spinning webs are relocated, sun dried slugs that resemble smeared prunes, are washed away. And the floor is scrubbed until the rust spots change color.
I am out there with a arm full of bamboo stakes lecturing the perennials. Stop bending towards the light, Japanese Anemone, and when company comes I want all your blooms to be facing the windows. Ferns turn around, and show off that amazing foliage. Hostas, you are to hide any of your weevil eaten leaves under the perfect ones. Yes it's just like crossing your legs, and yes I know that you don't have legs. Parrotia tree, look sharp, sit up straight, we have company coming! I become a nuisance, telling the plants what they should do, and of course they rebel. Acting out and misbehaving. When the company comes, there are pink petals littering the patio. The fern has purposefully broken a frond,, and the wilting petunias are letting the aphids have their way with the blooms. But just like a frazzled handler of a bad celebrity, I hustle everyone out quickly." Yes, this is my garden, yes it is small, Oh look tea is ready, shall we go in?" And please, what ever you do, don't look under the bed.