Hubby: "I''m soooo tired."
Me: "Yip, I'm pretty tired too..."
Hubby: *dead serious expression* "It's not the same, I'm MAN-tired. It's far worse."
True story. That's a direct quote – 'straight from the horse's mouth' as my grandmother would say. My husband blurts out these little gems at least once a day and even though we've been man and wife for almost two years it never ceases to amaze me that there's never even the teeniest hint of irony in the sentences he states matter-of-factly. I've started to call it what it is: Man-quote of the day
Yesterday, I took my almost-rid-of-the-nasty-flu body off of the couch and far away from E!News. I decided that my once beautiful little patio garden (refer to this post ) needed to be restored to its former glory. You see, Winter has not been kind to my potted painting... gone are the pretty violets and baby blue hues that spilled over the rusted metal of my much loved antique pennyfarthing. Instead, my patio garden looks like a third storey graveyard where (usually indestructable) plants come to commit suicide.
I blame the frost and the cold and the months of limited doses of sunshine... but I must admit that while the season did play its part, my blatant neglect and very rare excursions out onto the balcony with a watering can is to blame. The fact that my rosemary bush and geraniums survived is, quite literally, a miracle because I didn't set eyes on them for most of June, okay... or July *hangs head in shame*
Anyways, the point of this story (I promise that there is one) is that yesterday while grocery shopping and buying overpriced house-fragrance things, I came across a display rack full of packets of seeds. I picked up the packets with the pretty pictures, read the instructions on the back and put back the ones that appeared needy (ie semi-shade or semi-sun etc) or read 'keep soil moist at all times' – if there's one thing I've learnt about gardening, it's that I'm not that dedicated a gardener. The end result was four packets of carefully selected seeds. Little bags of promise. Little bags of 'how hard can growing flowers really be?'
So, I put on my cute striped (only been used once in six months) designer gardening gloves, scooped up my hair into a very 1990's butterfly clip and got to work yanking out the dead stuff and carefully sewing my precious seeds. An hour later I had a bunch of pots full of very moist, expertly churned up soil. I caught a glimpse of Mr. Rosemary and Madame Geranium glaring at me suspiciously. If plants could talk I'm telling you they'd be taking bets on which new seed would die from heat stroke and/or over watering first.
Fast forward a couple of hours and hubby arrived home. I was excited to tell him about my revival project and quickly showed him empty seed packets and dragged him upstairs to see my manicured sandpit.
Me: "Look, love, I've been gardening."
Hubby: "Um, I can see that... why didn't you plant actual plants?" [translation: man-speak for seedlings]
Me: "Well, I wanted to start from scratch..."
Hubby: *cheeky smirk* "So that you could kill more plants quicker?"
True story. That my friends, was the man-quote of yesterday.
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