anthropometaphors

On the way to work this morning I drove by an expanse of iceplant (Carpobrotus edulis) – considered by some to be a barbarian of the botanical world – and had the sudden longing for chlorophyll to reside within my skin.  Much like the growth of invasive C. edulis, my whimsical notion soon grew into a rampant daydream as I began listing the characteristics I’d expect from such a novel modification:

• I’d be green. Literally.
• I’d be The Ultimate Anorexic; never requiring food, I would sustain myself – albeit in a very “vegetative” state – with water, sunlight and multivitamins.  Supplementary nutrients would be required for a more energetic lifestyle, which would require the maintenance of my existing digestive tract.
• If properly maintained, I would continue to grow to an indefinite height.  To maintain a size – and thus retain access to size-limited objects like a home, furniture and a car – I’d require regular grooming.  I’d have my offshoots snipped, tweezed and trimmed alongside those with hair, nail and waxing appointments at the salon.  For only with such routine care would I avoid substantial prunings, the costly and potentially dangerous equivalent of liposuction.
• My carbon footprint would shrink.  No cows farmed in former Amazonia for me, I’d passively create my own fuel in parallel to daily life activities.  Installing new (and larger) windows and skylights would shoot to the top of my home improvements list.
• Sex could get awkward.  Would I be a dicot or a monocot?  And if a dicot, would I be a flowering plant?  Would my ovaries ripen like fruit?  How would fertilization occur, and would an intermediary organism – insect, bird or otherwise – be required?  Would wee chlorophumans sprout in my womb?

Imagining pollen and flowers blooming behind my ears, I blinked and the iceplant was gone.  I’d travelled several miles south along I-880, but my mind rested among thoughts of greenery.