Houseplants: extensions of the maternalistic arm or pains in the ass?

I have no green thumb and I have no desire to even develop one at this point in my life. The plants that we have in our garden are the ‘plant them and wait and see’ varieties which mostly, surprisingly, have survived. God invented azaleas for people like me. Then why, do I keep these? To be honest, I don’t know. The one on the right used to be only ten centimetres high. Well, actually, we bought it the size it is now, but let it die out to almost nothing. Then Adam felt all guilty and nursed it back to life. If I’d have my way, it would be germinating somewhere in landfill right about now. The other one is a companion plant, and is still in its original pot, because frankly I’m too scared to do anything with it. I think they look terrible, but I can’t move them about the house. It used to be because we had a cat, and these are poisonous to cats (don’t ask me what species they are; I think they are white lilianthus, but I can’t remember. It’s been that long since they flowered…) Now we have Keira who can destroy things a lot quicker than a cat, so still have to keep them up out of the way. So I’m stuck with the ugly things on my table. What say you all––kick out my unwanted, neglected babies, or give them the TCL that the greenies out there would say they deserved?