Pearlescent Ranunculus

My sister once told me that only serial killers and divorcées hang fake flowers on their bathroom walls. But there it was, this artificial ranunculus, pearl-white and delicate as a soap bubble, complete with its own little keyhole backing like some Victorian-era secret passage in miniature. I found it at one of those home décor stores where everything smells like vanilla and disappointment. The kind of place where middle-aged women go to buy signs that say "Live, Laugh, Love" in cursive font. But this flower was different. It had a certain je ne sais quoi, if je ne sais quoi means "the ability to make your bathroom look like it belongs to someone who has their life together." The thing about fake flowers is that they're immune to my particular brand of neglect. Real plants in my care tend to develop a death wish within days, but this pearl ranunculus persists, perpetually blooming on my bathroom wall like some sort of modern art installation. It catches the light from my unflattering overhead bulb and transforms it into something almost magical. Sometimes, when I'm brushing my teeth, I catch myself staring at it and thinking that maybe serial killers and divorcées are onto something after all.

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