When I was in elementary school, 3rd grade I believe, my mom did some temporary holiday work at business that shared it's building with a small floral shop. I was there visiting with her after school when the woman who owned the floral shop asked me to take a nearly dead pothos plant out to the dumpster as I was leaving in exchange for a piece of candy. I accepted the task and the candy, but instead of throwing it away I took it home. I knew nothing about plants but I watered it and put it in my window. It got a little better, but not much. My mom saw it and she helped me change out the dirt, put some fertilizer in it and put it in a better pot. We watered it, gave it lots of sun and it started to grow and grow. We took off some leaves, rooted them and made the plant even thicker. I named it Mr. Planty and other than a couple near death experiences, a few rebirths and a couple different pots, it has been with me ever since. I don't have or want any other plants, but Mr. Planty has somewhere around 60 or 7o offspring scattered around the Midwest including most of my children's bedrooms.