Fantasy: My garden is a perfect Utopia full of soil so rich, moist, and well drained, an entire issue of Fine Gardening has been created to feature it.
Reality: There's a section near the dog run so dry and shady, it's been named the Bed of Death and Misery. Local nurseries, upon discovering I've rounded up another batch of sacrificial plants to replace last season's losses, refuse to sell to me and have my picture posted near the registers.
Fantasy: I'm a Brazilian supermodel.
Reality: I'm half human, half naked mole rat, and have an extra ear.
Fantasy: Everything I plant bursts from the ground with such enthusiasm and vigor, I garden in full hockey gear to keep from getting injured.
Reality: I once had a rose die within 24 hours of coming home from the nursery and being planted in my garden. A small white flag and a hastily scrawled note that read "You've got to be kidding me, lady" were all it left behind.
Fantasy: A series of interconnected underground springs waters my garden and lawn for me every other day, while my own personal garden fairy keeps my pots watered and fertilized.
Reality: Once my rain barrels are empty, my city water bill rivals the tuition of a small, ivy covered private college.
Fantasy: My dogs are so vigilant at keeping squirrels out of the feeders that the squirrels buy timed admission tickets to the garden and are escorted out once they've met their allotted seed consumption limits.
Reality: One dog is snoring, another is farting, two are clueless, and the last one is looking out the wrong window while a squirrel is eating its body weight in seed.