My extreme delusion.
For example, at the beginning of this gardening season, I planted these gorgeous green beans and, after picking my first small handful of these thin little french beans, I said aloud to Bubba, myself and the world,
"You know what? I think I'm going to be able to keep up with these beans this year. They're not as bulky as the Kentucky Wonders or the Blue Lakes, so I think I've got this one in the bag."
Yeah. "Keeping up" is not how I'd describe my relationship with the beans. Something more along the lines of "Being left in the fucking dust", though - that sounds a bit closer.
|Bring it, bitch. We're so monstrous, we're now GROWING DOWN FROM THE TOP.|
Then remember how I was all, "Oh awesome! I have TWO volunteer tomatillo plants! I'm going to transplant them into the pepper bed and just see how they do. I doubt they'll be as awesome as last year's plants, so they'll fit great right here in this one foot spot. No problemo."?
|ORRRRRRRRRRRRRR...they'll push everything in their path out of the way and sprout a hundred lanterns at once.|
And that's not a great thing when you plant them in the same bed and rely on your own naked steaming eyeballs to keep track of when plants need staking and taming.
Because, you see, plants that look the same can grow together into an irretrievable mess before naked steaming eyeballs can notice properly and then put a stop to the co-mingling.
|In real life, it was hard to tell that these two plants had become one. Really. Not just when I was drinking, either.|
So, yeah, that was a good time. If you like hearing, "Oh what the hell is this now?" every five minutes for four hours, anyway.
And speaking of four hours spent swearing, there were some surprisingly lanky and huge standard tomato plants involved.
|I use every kind of support mechanism. Please do not make fun because this totally works.|
I admire the beds at these times, all certain that *this* year I've found the magic combination of spacing, staking, caging and...well...magic that will contain my plants throughout the season.
"This will be the year", I say to no one in particular, " that I don't have to go digging around blindly in the tomato plants up to my shoulder because they've grown beyond the boundaries of not only their cages but also the beds and most of the backyard."
Or something like that. I promise it's similarly boastful and, yes, rife with complete delusion.
And then every year I come face to face with my delusions when they do this.
|Woman. Why do you do this to yourself?|
|Just get to reaching. Come on. There are a hundred of us in here. WAAAAAAAAY in here.|
|Also, we're out here, too.|
*Sigh* I doubt there will ever be a year in which I do not lose the battle with the tomato plants. Though I also doubt there will ever be a year in which I do not think that I HAVE won the battle as I stand next to the newly planted bed and say those things I said before.
I'm telling you, this girl is not so bright.
For example, I believed the packet when it said, "Slo-bolt" next to "Cilantro".
|Um. I beg to fucking differ.|
Yeah, I need to give up on that little fantasy. One day.
|The watermelon is also well beyond its bed now, which SURPRISE.|
|The cucumber has decided it'd rather crawl on the ground outside the bed than up its special cage. SHOCKER.|
|The potatoes I said I wasn't going to grow are, well, growing.|
|And the sunflower which I was all, "Oh, it won't take up much room in the bed, just let it grow." is taking up too much room in the bed.|
But who really gives a good hot crap when hellooooooooooooooooooo, this happens every day now.
|Hey, baby. How you doin'?|
Anyway, yeah - I'm wallowing in my delusion once again during the gardening season and it's pretty fucking delicious.
|Why hello, dinner.|