Supermarket mint was still mint, wasn’t it?

He was suspicious – but honestly, what could they do to it? 

I mean, obviously they’d use the most basic compost in minimal quantities. They’d tailor the whole process, origination, cultivation, distribution – you name it. Cutting margins. Using whatever came to hand (cheaply) to maximise profits and minimise disruption. A great network of growers, buyers, movers, managers. Till here you were, with this thing, a leggy mint plant in a thin plastic tub, lolling desperately off the shelf in the vegetable section, crying out for salvation. 

So you take it home, find a nice ceramic pot, use the potting compost you have left over from the last intervention. Water it, spray it. Establish it on a nice sunny windowsill in the kitchen, in a micro-climate with three other refugee plants. And look at it now! Vibrantly green! Turning its ribby leaves to the sunlight, sucking it all in, spreading its roots, thrusting out shoots! The fullest expression of itself. A minty marvelousness! 

But of course – you could never plant it out. 

It would take over. All the world would be mint. The supermarket would be mint. The houses of parliamint for the governmint. Mint on the television. Mint streaming. Mint where the ocean used to be. Planet Mint. Give me a momint. 

Would they spare me, as I spared them?

Of course not. They’re mint. 

Pitiless.