Plant killer.

I know what you're thinking.

That girl is a murderer.

It's true. I have killed my first plant at this house. (I must be a serial killer because at least one other plant -- one in college comes to mind -- died on my time, too.)

Even as the rosemary was so brittle that leaves fell on a daily basis, I denied the plant's slow death. I continued to water it, usually weekly. The plant wasn't dead. It was just depressed. It needed a pick-me-up. Some nice weather. A nice caretaker that remembered to water it more often.

Even yesterday, when Ben told his mother that I could use a rosemary plant since mine was dead, I argued that it was alive and well.

When we got back home last night after a weekend in Tracy, I agreed to sign the death certificate. Ben buried the plant deep in the garbage for me.