So there's this girl and she's so pretty that if you look at her straight on you'll get dizzy and she's looking at me like I'm precious. "You have a garden?" she practically squeals, "That's the cutest thing!"
And I remember that she's born and bred city and that yes, it is positively darling that I would sweat into soil and reap fresh rewards come harvest, isn't it?!
Except that I'm TERRIBLE at it.
And my terribleness is cause for great embarrassment.
Because my mother is AWESOME at it. And this was her land long before it was mine. And I have lazied it up by being too busy with other things.
I want to be a gardener. I really do. And I love the dirt of it and the excitement when that seed breaks ground and the taste of the first cherry tomato and how it bursts in your mouth like tiny fireworks of summer flavour...
But I'm TERRIBLE at it.
And the weeds. Oh, the weeds. I am so ashamed and I don't know how to be redeemed without a weed-whacker and a dump truck.
I have good intentions too. I map it all out before the last snow is gone and I know where the carrots are going and that I'll build a twig teepee this time for the peas to climb and it's all good until it's finally planted and then...
I'm just too busy with other obligations and I just can't find the time AND I AM NEVER GOING TO BE AS MUCH OF A SUPER HERO AS MY MOTHER!
So, now that I've had two full seasons of failure to meet the lowest standards of gardening standards, I have to face the truth and make a new plan.
As of this moment, my darling garden is scheduled for major reconstruction surgery. Because it doesn't make sense to try again because I know myself too well.
I'm going to liposuction those dirt saddlebags, reduce that bulbous nose into a sweet little slope, tummy-tuck the excess out of that potato plot...I'm going to leave myself room for tomatoes and herbs and peas and to the rest: SAYONARA!
I feel better already!