Black Thumb

Okay, it's confession time. I have a black thumb.

No, I'm not kidding. You know how gardener's always boast about having a green thumb? Well, mine's black. Or it should be.

I try. Really I do. I go to the nursery, filled with high hopes. I choose only the biggest, bushiest, greenest herb plants for my window box. Remember, we live in Manhattan during the summer, so it's not like I've got real ground or anything. A window box, that's it. Shouldn't be hard, should it?

This morning I woke up, padded to the kitchen, put the coffeepot on and looked at my window box.

Dead. Creeping thyme? Done creeping. Oregano? Laid out flat. Parsley? Ditto. Purple sage? Curled up and yellow.

Ugh. The black thumb, a curse for all time.