I hate the lemon tree.

It's pretty, it's cute, it smells lovely, C loves it...and it has become the symbol of the huge communication fail between my mother and me. That the tree, according to its label, is indeed as delicate as I had feared does not make things better.

I know it's silly, but I've become so resentful towards the tree that I don't even like being near it in case it picks up on my negativity.

It's of course not the tree, but the fact that my mother, despite numerous explanations of why not to do something, goes ahead and does it anyway, and that the lemon tree is just the most recent in a long number of cases.