The Failure Fallacy

This is not a happy post but a wholly accurate retelling of absolute failure. Last year, after the infamous Sweetbox Situation, I resolved to become a classy gardener. I did not succeed.

I suppose I should have started by finally donning all those matching gardening outfits that keep popping up or toning down the sassy innuendo. But where's the fun in that? When dozens of light pink seedlings sprang up in my garden after I caught my windblown 'Nicky' and 'David' phlox intertwined like lovers, I suppose I should have quietly commented, "Oh my!" and averted my eyes instead of making Baby Daddy jokes. But I didn't. Instead I laughed and asked if his bloom was as big as his boast. 'Nicky' turned hot pink but didn't respond. Points scored? Zero

(Used with permission from the unsuspecting Odd Sock Blog.)

My 'David' was in too much shade to be this studly but he keeps popping up all over the garden, always ready for a bit of lovin'.

Deep in the dregs of winter 2014 and in desperate need of lush landscapes, I settled in for a few hours of Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice. An intelligent movie was just what I needed to clear my head of all my naughty David jokes but by the middle of the film I was ready to trade in my tea for something stronger. English gardens and sweeping vistas couldn't make up for all the propriety and tension and in typical Tammy-style I started yelling at the TV. 

"Enough with all the small talk, Elizabeth! Kiss him! Kiss him! Kiss him and then kiss him again!" I would have definitely taken my advice but I don't think I scored any extra points.

Colin Firth as Mr Darcy, who really needs to lighten up.

Since none of my heckling had rewritten Pride and Prejudice, I tried a different tactic. Maybe I would try being more cultured by embracing my inner Ginger Rogers with dancing lessons. But I shook my booty too much for ballroom and didn't want to waltz. Points scored? Zero

The final verdict came this fall as I crouched in the garden, eagerly digging up plants for my annual transplant-a-thon, also known as the Happy Plant Hokey Pokey. As one plant came out and another went in, I heard a rip and suddenly froze. Hidden behind a wall of foliage, I bent down to asses the damage. A huge gash in my favorite gardening pants had left my underwear on full display. With my other pair in the wash and unwilling to finish up for the day,  I did what any fabulous gardener would do. I laughed at myself, adjusted my pants, and just kept gardening. 

Classy points = Zero 

Life's Too Short to Care points = A lot

Classy is as classy does, honey, and I'm practically the Ritz.