So it would seem I have a type.
This is George.
George is an Oreocereus celsianus, or “old man” cactus. He’s a bit abrasive and he mostly ignores me but I absolutely dote on him. I can hold him and twist his hair in my fingers and breathe in his spicy scent and he doesn’t really do much of anything in return. He doesn’t really seem to want anything to do with me.
That’s okay, though, because the upside of giving all of your love and attention to a cactus is that he can’t physically leave you. Just can’t! If he hurts you, it’s only because you asked for it, by trying to get too close (and we all know you should never, ever try to get CLOSE to anyone, you silly, silly woman)!
Worst case scenario, he dies on you. Maybe because you did something horribly wrong. But then there’s always the comfort in knowing it was in fact YOUR FAULT, and that there was something you DID or DIDNT DO, and you can accept blame and move in with your life instead of being stuck feeling completely bewildered and impotent when your heart is ripped out and thrown to the sidewalk outside Levain Bakery.