Lottery Winner

What a week this has been. Last week I wrote about this man I am seeing and asked all of my dear readers to help me. He's a very lovely person, but very serious and under-emotional. I was trying so hard to get to know him and appreciate his mysterious ways, but I was having such a hard time with the way he says things and, in some cases, doesn't say anything at all.

As usual, you guys didn't fail me. I received an overwhelming amount of replies and opinions ranging from gentle to ferocious. I read every one of them and boy... are my eyes wide open now!

I was amazed to see how many of you really "get me" through my writings. I was so impressed that you understood completely that, although I am good at sorting out problems for others, that I was too close to see my situation clearly. That's why I always consult experts when I am out of my area of expertise. Thank you my sweet experts, you done good.

First of all, I was shocked that SO many people that I actually know read my articles. Many of those friends were surprised that I was seeing someone and they didn't know it. I received both letters of congratulations and hate mail asking why I hadn't mentioned him. Goodness gracious, I have only known him a short time. I was trying to figure out this relationship between the two of us before I started to expose him to my wacky friends and family. It seems that I actually upset some dear people in my life because they read about him in one of my articles instead of hearing it from me first. Holy crap, it appears that I am always pissing someone off! For those of you that I offended, I will get back to you as soon as I can. Please take a number.

Next there were those of you who felt that I must be ever so cognizant of our "cultural" differences. I appreciated this point of view, but he has lived in the U.S. for decades and my grandmother who helped raise me was a fine English lady. I don't think there are really any cultural difficulties between us. Oh wait! Maybe you were referring to that "Men are from Mars" theory. That would make me have cultural differences with every man in the universe. The fact that he had an English upbringing has nothing to do with it. If he were from Kuala Lumpur, I would agree. Both of us speak English as our first language. It's more a "joie de vivre" difference, than cultural diversity. I feel the "joie" of things long before he does and that creates some problems.

One reader thought that I should be grateful that he is attentive in restaurants. She told me very sternly that I am not perfect (really?) and that some men just cannot express their feelings and that I am needy if I require being told that he cares. She continued to say that a man who keeps my wine glass full all the time is a "keeper". That may be true, but I couldn't stop wondering if I could deal with him not saying he missed me when I eventually had to check into Betty Ford. Sorry, that's just the way my mind and heart think. I can't help it.

I got some really sweet letters from ladies whose men, though flawed, were beyond wonderful. I heard accounts of rampant snoring, farting, and soup slurping guys whose gentle ways and endless thoughtfulness made them complete dreamboats in their women's eyes. I loved those letters especially. A friend of mine wrote to say that her boyfriend wasn't perfect, but that he calls every night before bed to tuck her in on the phone and say "I love you". Yes, Walt, we're talking about you. All I could do was swoon. Let me paint you a mental picture. Walt is a big "badass" biker guy. He is obviously also part teddy bear.

I was so flattered that many of you see clearly to my nurturing loving side. You came right out and said that you felt that I was way too tender-hearted to be with someone who chokes on words of endearment.

Well my precious readers, I took every word you wrote and measured the pros and the cons. I also factored in that I am not exactly a "walk in the park" when it comes to temperament. I have been called a hand full, a firecracker, and worse, so I have to make allowances for me being me.

Well, thanks to you I have sorted it all out and I am at peace. I also feel like I just won the Love Lottery. I put my money on my Fifi fans and you gave me exactly what I needed. You spoke to me frankly, you made me see the big picture from so many angles, you spoke to me with honesty and respect and most importantly, you put your arms around me and delivered the big hugs that I really needed. It doesn't matter that they could only be cyber hugs. I could feel every one. You showed concern for my conflicted feelings and urged me to follow my heart. You told me that you loved me.

I now know what's what and I know exactly what to do. Thank you.

One more thing... I love you,too.

Period Of Adjustment

I have some exciting news. I have this new man in my life and I really like him. We are in the first stages of getting to know one another, so it is interesting. Since you, my darling readers, know me pretty well after all this time together, I was hoping that you would tell me what you think. I know you will tell me the truth.

When you are 25 and dating, you don't need any help, but when you are older, have been previously married for ages and are a bit stuck in your ways, a little guidance would help. I know many of you out there are over 40 and been around the block more than once.

Okay, let me begin. He passes all my tests as far as integrity and depth of character. He doesn't get hinky when I talk about children or grandchildren, and I look forward to them all meeting. He is well dressed in a conservative sort of way. He is very pleasant to look at and he is warm and charming. He grew up in England and speaks with thick accent. For me this is not a problem. I grew up during the British Invasion and saw "A Hard Day's Night" a dozen times. I speak Beatle fluently. Understanding what he is saying to me is easy. Understanding why he said it and what he meant by it is much harder.

He's not a player and seems completely genuine and honest. He is considerate and attentive. To say that he is intelligent is an understatement. He is well educated and very successful in business. He is a great talker and a great listener. He is punctual and extremely well mannered. He is very knowledgeable about wine and never fails to bring fabulous bottles when he comes for dinner. He always helps clear the table afterwards and begins immediately on the dishes. We have a good time together and discuss everything under the sun. He describes himself as a Renaissance man and I believe that to be a very accurate description. He is not a snob, but is a bit stiff. I'm just sayin'...

I know that some of you ladies are saying to yourself, "Wow! Why can't I find a man like that?" and I agree. He is remarkable. Why am I confounded as to what to do next? Here's why.

Although he can quote Shakespeare and can spout ancient poetry, he is not romantic. We were discussing love relationships and I started describing what I thought every woman would like to hear. To be told that a man adores you and can't live without you were the perfect words to me. He immediately sat up a little straighter and quickly amended what I said. "That is just not true" he said. Okay, I get it, Mr. Semantic Pants! I knew where his exacting mind was going. Of course a man could certainly still live if his woman died or stopped loving him, but he is saying that he would rather not live without his woman by his side. I got the feeling that if my new man ever did fall completely in love with me, the best declaration of his undying love I would ever get would be something like "I am very fond of you, dear. I am extremely pleased that we found each other". I am stupid romantic and I wear my heart on my sleeve. I am wondering if this yearning for romance will get in the way of this relationship progressing. Too bad there isn't Viagra-like product for men to keep their romantic side erect.

I admit that he is conservative with his feelings, but I have always prided myself in being able to loosen up the most restrained of people. When I say something gushy, like "spending time together is so wonderful and feels so right", I know he feels the same way but why does he have to nod his head and say "I concur"?

I get it that we are very different, but that's what makes it so exciting. I am willing to make concessions, but the romance thing is really important to me. I am all about love and romance, as you all know. Hey! I saw the movie "Ghost", too... and I don't do "ditto" very well either.

The other night he took me to a lovely Italian restaurant. I watched him pour olive oil and balsamic vinegar onto his side plate. I then noticed that my side plate was already full. For a minute I thought I was having a senior moment and had forgotten that I had already done it, but realized that he had poured both onto my plate first. So sweet. I am not used to it and I thanked him. He got boyfriend points for that. He also keeps my wine glass filled and is always concerned that I am happy and comfortable. Good stuff!

I always tell him that he looks nice and he does. He never says much of anything about how I look. I swear that even if I were to meet him at the door in a scuba suit, I would get the same "good evening, ma'am" that I usually get.

When he comes to my home for the most casual dinner, he could go immediately to a job interview without changing his clothes. His idea of casual and mine are very different, but I find it refreshing to see a man nicely dressed and impeccably groomed. Last night he came over for a low key dinner and to watch my favorite show, "Project Runway". I noticed half way through that my man was dressed better than both of the famous men designer judges.

By now, you must be sensing my angst. I don't want to mess this up, but do a Free Spirit/1960s Wild Child and Renaissance Man/Slightly Stiff Englishman have a chance? I would give an enthusiastic "YES!" myself if it weren't for one big issue. We have very diverse views on a super sensitive subject. Oh, it's not politics or religion; we can figure all of that out easily. We are both civilized people who respect the opinions of others. The deal breaker might be my two little dogs. Don't misunderstand, he likes the dogs very much and they love him. The issue here is the fact that my dogs both have vast wardrobes and I dress them everyday. My dogs are happy when they are dressed up and the attention and treats they get from everyone makes their tails wag like crazy. If my puppies were uncomfortable, I wouldn't do it, but they not only hold still to be dressed they seem to know that they rock whatever outfit they are wearing. My man teases me about it constantly. He thinks that it is insane to put clothes on dogs. Usually he is open-minded about everything else and if he sees a valid reason for a change of heart on a subject, he will consider it. Perhaps if Brooks Brothers came out with a line of dog clothes, he would be more lenient with his harsh opinions. I even looked on the Internet to see if Queen Elizabeth ever dressed up her Corgi dogs. No such good luck, but a whole huge part of the population thinks that dogs look cuter dressed up. I am quite sure that most of the dogs think they look pretty hot as well.

Tell me what you think. Can this work? I don't want to blow it with this guy, but I have zillions of dollars wrapped up in doggy fashions.

Woman Of The Cloth

You already know that I am quirky, so you won't be shocked by my next admission. As I was ironing my cloth napkins over the weekend, I had sweet thoughts of my mother teaching me how to press them just so and stack them when I was a girl. Just in case you think I was preparing for the holidays, I wasn't. I use cloth napkins at my house every day, even though I am usually the only one dining.

Now when I say "dining" I am referring to any kind of eating at home. If I have a peanut butter sandwich, I use a cloth napkin. You have no idea how elegant a PB&J can be when you wipe your lips with real cloth.

Believe me when I tell you that switching to cloth can even make eating a Hot Pocket on the couch feel sophisticated.

Think of how it feels when you go to a fancy restaurant and the waiter takes your starched napkin, unfurls it dramatically, and places it in your lap. It's special... and you probably sit up straighter and look forward to your meal with greater anticipation. I get the same feeling when I use cloth napkins at home. I skip the unfurling part because it scares the dogs, but the feeling of cloth in my lap instead of paper makes me feel like a queen.

I really hate it that with most people, cloth napkins have become something for only special occasions or 5-star restaurants. Believe me when I tell you that switching to cloth can even make eating a Hot Pocket on the couch feel sophisticated.

It is really no big deal to throw a weeks worth of napkins in the washer. The ironing part takes no time at all and sometimes I can just kind of smooth them with my hands. It's all worth it when you sit down to eat. And when you have a guest? Just watch their faces when you hand them a cloth napkin to go with their coffee and bagel.

I guess I am just a tactile person. I love thick towels, soft sheets, and lofty comforters, as well. Thank goodness the same people who make paper napkins and paper towels didn't tinker with converting other cloth items into disposable paper. Can you imagine getting out of the tub and tearing off a big wide piece of perforated paper toweling from a big roll? I wince at the thought. The best part of bathing is the "hug" you get when you wrap a towel around yourself.

I had a dreadful experience once that proves that this is so true. I was staying in a friends guest house which was located about 100 yards from the main house. I was happily taking a hot shower and did not realize until I got out - dripping wet - that the host had forgotten to restock the bathroom with towels since the last visitor. Not wishing to damage the wood floors in the cottage, I turned to my survival instincts. I got back in the shower and shook my tailfeather and a few other things to get as much water off me as I could. I then stepped out and used most of the box of Kleenex on the counter. I got dry enough to race to the bedroom and finish up with my sweatshirt. I have worshiped the feel of bath towels since that day.

Granted, some things make much more sense made out of paper. Motherhood has become more convenient and less stinky with the advent of disposable diapers. Although good handkerchiefs are very old school and romantic for both men and women, I never liked the idea of carrying around a booger-y hanky all day. You can only use it once before it is disgusting. I like my tissues, thank you. Now, if you want to give paper a real round of applause, lets hear it for toilet paper! Before it's invention, people used everything from leaves to corn husks to do the job. French royalty used lace, which sounds nicer, but still terrible. I am grateful for my ultra thick, 2-ply, kitten soft, toilet paper, but I am still opposed to the use of paper napkins in the home.

I imagine that I hold on to some of "old school" ideas because I really don't love it that the whole world has gotten so casual and forgotten how some things can make simple everyday occurrences more pleasurable. Maybe I've seen too many 1940s movies where ladies do ladylike things like write their daily correspondence on real stationary with their initials embossed on it. Now women just dash off an email or a text message if they want to say something. They don't even take the trouble to write whole words these days. Is anybody THAT busy that they don't have time to write "you" instead of just "U"? I am pretty sure that I won't have much luck convincing these same people to use cloth napkins, but it's their loss.

Think about what I'm saying. Think about buying some napkins made of real cloth to use every day. I promise that you will see what wonders it does for your sense of well being. It will make you feel regal and elegant, even if you are eating a Lean Cuisine and watching Family Feud.

Trust me on this one.

Cyber Sale, Schmyber Sale!

It has been an exhausting week here at LoveFifi.com. I am just about to leave the office. It's late Wednesday evening and I didn't have another brain cell left to be clever, so there is no article, per se, but I do have a minute to chat. We are such good friends, after all.

Even though LoveFifi.com is a beloved lingerie destination with a loyal following, it has made my brain bleed to try to figure out how to compete with all of this "biggest shopping weekend of the year" hullabaloo. You can't turn on the TV or the radio without hearing about some fantastic deal for Black Friday or Cyber Monday or how some stores were opening at midnight on Thanksgiving. How am I supposed to make people think about buying a bra from me when they are standing in line at dawn to get a big screen TV for $19.99?

This whole thing has taken a toll on me. I am such a straight shooter, but I must admit that I had to tell a little, tiny fib about my big sale going on now. If you haven't caught it, I called it my Electronic Lingerie SALE. True, there were not really any electronics involved at all, but I knew the headline in your mailboxes would make you look. I don't have any iPads or iPhones... so iLied. Don't hate me.

I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving, and if you shopped, perhaps you took a look at my site. Maybe you even bought something. Fingers crossed!

I am going home now and I look forward to relaxing on this long weekend. No, I will not be standing in line at Macy's at daybreak or fighting my way through crowds at the Big Box stores. If you did any of that, I hope you got what you wanted and that you are unscathed. Did I mention that a new bra and a pair of panties are the perfect accessories for that new laptop? I'm just saying.

Forgive me for mentioning it, but there is one more day of my Electronic Lingerie SALE where the whole site is 30% off + Free Shipping over $30 (U.S. Standard Shipping Only). I apologize that there really aren't any electric underpants for sale. Now all I can do is hope for the best and think about next year's Black Friday/Cyber Monday extravaganza. It's difficult because my employees don't always like my brainstorms. Take last year for example. Not one of my staff members supported my naked carwash/bake sale idea. Life is not easy.

Seasonal Fortitude or Seasonal Reasoning

Maybe it's just me, but I swear someone pushes a button somewhere and makes the last three months of the year go into turbo mode. Where does the time go? Where does it escape to?

Here's what happens. By summer's end, the Halloween costumes and decorations dominate space nearly everywhere I shop. By the time Halloween actually gets here, we are besieged with everything Christmas.

Why does it feel like I have just disposed of the moldy jack o' lantern on my porch and the next week it is nearly Thanksgiving? Where does the time go? Where does it escape to?

Really, it was just Labor Day and, now, it is nearly Thanksgiving. This year it is coming as early as it possibly can on the calendar, and it sure came fast. I like Thanksgiving, but it also means that Christmas is only a month away. Yes, that joyous time of year is just around the corner... AGAIN.

I love this time of year, but as I get older and crankier, it becomes increasingly more difficult for me to get my butt in gear and keep up with these holidays.

Even though I always grouse about the retailers hauling out the Christmas stuff earlier and earlier each year, perhaps they were doing this just for me! Maybe if I didn’t blow off all these early holiday offerings as crass commercialism, I wouldn’t be standing in lines in department stores on December 21st huffing and puffing with anxiety and plotting the death of the sales clerk who always seems to be using the cash register for the very first time.

This year I am determined to get things done so I can actually HAVE a Christmas. I have always had such contempt for people who boast in mid-October that they have completed their Christmas shopping. Ugh...

In 2012, I am committed to being more organized and I am aiming to get most of my Christmas shopping done in November. This is going to be my “get it all together” month. I will ask for lists from my loved ones this weekend and that will be it. I am going to do it this year. Don’t laugh! I am woman, hear me roar.

No more stressing out. No more wandering around the mall doing what I call “zombie shopping”. That’s when you don’t know what to buy and you are so tired from looking you wouldn’t know a good gift if it hit you over the head. No more running around at the last minute. And absolutely no more wrapping packages with the 11 o’clock News Team. This year will be different!

How wonderful it would be to spend December just doing Christmas things. I want to bake things, I want to go caroling. I want to take my children and grandchildren to see The Nutcracker (even though they hate it). That’s the biggest reason for taking them, by the way. They will squawk endlessly about enduring a two-hour ballet with dancing mice NOW, but someday when I am dead they will tearfully tell beautiful stories about how I took them to The Nutcracker at Christmas. I will sit on my cloud in heaven and smile.

Although I am fairly well known for putting the “fun” in dysfunctional, I am quite sure my family and friends would enjoy not having Psycho Fifi around this year. I know I will love not being her. November is MY month to change the way I do things.

Why don't you join me in my effort to get it all out of the way this month? I know Thanksgiving will be even more enjoyable if I am not stressing about Christmas. Are you in?

And when my friends and family ask what I want for Christmas, I will make it easy as I have already carefully thought it out... I want crazy wild gypsy earrings and world peace. Come to think of it, I don't really need the earrings. I am a crazy wild gypsy already. And as for world peace? Yes, please.

Fifi And The Cowboy

I get lots of sweet emails from you, my readers, telling me how I made you laugh over Sunday coffee. I had one sweet lady write to say that I make her giggle so much that she had to keep from peeing her pants, which is the highest possible compliment you can give a silly person. So now I have a confession. I am not the only funny writer in the world. I wanted you to think as much so you will never leave me, but there are some very hilarious people out there who can also make you laugh with words.

A friend of mine sent me this piece that I thought was completely adorable. No one knows who the author is, but he is my kind of guy. I suggest that when you read it, you do it with your best country accent. It is really a cute little poem and reminds me of so many men who are timid about shopping for ladies intimate apparel. Y'all enjoy and I will catch up with you again at the end.

The Cowboy

I ain't much for shopping,
Nor even goin' into town -
Except at cattle-shipping time,
I ain't easily found.
But the day came when I had to go
And I left the kids with ma.
But before I left she asked me,
"Would you pick me up a bra?"
Without thinkin' I said "Sure,"
How tough could that job be?
I bent down and kissed her
And said, "I'll be back by three"
Well, when I done the things I needed,
I started to regret
Ever offering to buy that thing,
I was working up a sweat.
I crossed the street to the ladies shop
With my hat pulled over my eyes,
I wasn't takin' any chances
On bein' recognized.
I walked up to the sales clerk -
I didn't hem or haw -
I told the lady right straight out,
"Ma'am, I'm here to buy a bra."
From behind I heard some snickers,
So I turned around to see
A dozen women in the store
And they's all gawkin' at me!
"What kind would you be looking for?"
"Well," I just scratched my head.
I'd only seen one kind before
"Thought bras was bras," I said.
She gives me a disgusted look,
"Well sir, that's where you're wrong.
Come with me," I heard her say,
And like a dog, I tagged along.
She took me down this alley
Where bras was on display.
Well, I thought my jaw'd hit the floor
When I seen that lingerie.
They had all these different styles
That I'd not seen before
I thought that I'd go crazy
'fore I left that women's store.
They had bras you wear for eighteen hours
And bras that cross your heart.
There was bras that lift and separate,
And that was just the start.
They had bras that made you feel
Like you weren't wearing one at all,
And bras that you can train in
When you start off when you're small.
Well, I finally make my mind up -
Picked a black and lacy one -
I told the lady, "Bag it up,"
And figured I was done
But then she asked me for the size.
I didn't hesitate.
I knew them measurements by heart,
"A six-and-seven-eighths."
"Six and seven eighths, well sir,
That really isn't right."
"Oh, yes ma'am!
Yeah, I'm positive,
I just measured them last night."
I thought that she'd go into shock,
Musta took her by surprise
When I told her that my wife's bust
Was the same as my hat size.
"That's what I used to measure with,
I figured it was fair,
But if I'm wrong, I'm sorry ma'am."
This drew another stare.
By now a crowd had gathered
And they's all crackin' up
When the lady asked to see my hat,
To measure for the cup.
When she finally had it figured,
I gave the gal her pay.
Then I turned to leave the store,
Tipped my hat and said, "Good day."
My wife heard the whole story
'fore I ever made it home.
She'd talked to all her lady friends
Who'd called her on the phone.
She was still a-laughin'
But by then I didn't care.
Now she don't ask and
I don't shop for no more women's underwear.

Not that measuring for a bra with your husband's hat isn’t ingenious, but there are better ways. If you aren’t sure what size you really are, write to me. We are having a fabulous BRA EVENT next week and I want you to buy the right size. I recently printed the measuring instructions and they are always on the site, but here they are again so you can find out once and for all if you are really wearing the correct size. Send me the numbers and we will talk. It always helps to send your height and the size jeans you buy. Don't ask why... trust me. But before you do, put on one of your best fitting unpadded bras. Take a measuring tape and measure under your bustline, (make the tape tight—it should feel like the tightness you like your bras). Then measure over your bust across the nipples, (make this a more relaxed measurement, not tight). Make sure the tape is straight in back. Send me the numbers and the size you currently buy. I will give you a personal bra size analysis and send it to you. Or you can use a cowboy hat. It’s up to you.

Plant Parenthood

Did I ever tell you that I buy fresh flowers every weekend at the farmer’s market? I adore having newly cut flowers in my home. I do it for two reasons. Number one, there is just something wonderful and sophisticated about having flowers to come home to. Number two, it keeps my sister off my back. A few years ago, she helped me with my move and subsequent downsizing after my divorce. She tried with all her might to get me to part with some of my vast collection of vases of every shape and size. Her argument was that a woman living alone does not need 31 containers for flowers. Fortunately, I was able to save every single one of my precious vases from going to my yard sale because I convinced her that I, indeed, NEEDED them all. So I can be assured that she never thinks that she was right, I keep them filled and rotated. And besides, I have flowers in my garden that I like to cut and display and then there is the chance that some of my floral tributes from male admirers might need redistribution. I don’t think you can have too many pretty vases.

Speaking of my garden, I work hard to keep it pretty. When I say “work hard”, I don’t necessarily mean that I am on my knees with a straw hat digging in the earth. I work hard at keeping up a good relationship with my gardener. He knows that I love to be surrounded by flowers and greenery, but he also knows that I suck at growing things. When people admire my front or back garden, I just smile and say thank you and hope they don’t ask me about any particular plant or ask advice about the amount of sun that they need. I haven’t a clue. My two tiny gardens abound with color, no thanks to me. Edwin, my darling gardener, keeps things going and growing. I have an automatic watering system, so all I have to do is admire my blooms.

I wish I were better at gardening. I should be. My mother and grandmother were amazing at growing things. When I was little, my mother tried to encourage me by buying packets of seeds and giving me a bit of space to grow carrots and radishes. I really liked it, but, like with so many things, I had no patience. As soon as I would get a bit of green showing, I would pull them up and marvel at a little teeny weeny carrot or radish. I didn’t want my mom to know that I had prematurely harvested my crop, so I replanted them and they withered and died. She never caught on, but I got an early reputation for not being a great at growing things.

Even in the 70s when everyone was obsessed with houseplants, I couldn’t keep mine alive. So, after my Creeping Charlie or Wandering Jew would croak, I would just go and buy a bigger one to replace it. No one ever caught on that I wasn’t this great earth mother. Back then it was believed that you needed to talk to your plants to make them thrive. I did that, but I don’t think nagging counts. Chanting “please don’t die.. please don’t die” did no good.

I think you have to have a really scientific mind to be good with plants. When I go to the garden center, I am really intimidated. I look like I know what I am doing because I pick very nice flowering plants and I often get very approving looks from the other customers and even the staff. I always wear a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and I have my best Martha Stewart-esque game face on. Looking confident gets me in and out of there faster. I don’t ask questions because that leads to questions I can’t answer intelligently. They want to know things like the composition of my soil. “Dirty dirt” probably wouldn’t give them the information they need. Any conversation with the garden pros might lead to further questioning about whether I am looking for annuals or perennials. This is just WAY too much pressure. I don’t know what to say. I have a friend who is a gifted gardener. His yard is spectacular. He orders seeds and little “plantlings” from all over the world, but he has this curious sign in his garden that reads “Friends don’t let friends buy annuals". I know this is some kind of inside gardening joke, but it is over my head.

I was actually at the nursery last weekend. My friendly sales associate flat out asked me if I had ordered my bulbs yet. I tried not to fumfer for an answer, so I threw my head back and told him that I was still deciding. More pressure.

It’s not like I don’t try. A few years ago, I was watching QVC, and their garden expert had these gorgeous plants in a 3-pack called “Butterfly Plants”. They ran a video that showed a lady receiving her three potted baby plants. The next thing you saw was the plants all grown up with lovely flowers and a trillion butterflies flitting around each stalk. These plants were guaranteed to grow quickly and easily with very little care. I am really good at the “very little care” part, so I ordered them. Three years later, I still have three Butterfly Plants, each one scragglier than the other. One of the plants occasionally gets a flower, and one little butterfly who apparently lost his way, did flit for a brief moment last spring.

Thank goodness I have a wonderful gardener who makes sure that my world is beautiful. He fights off the aphids and gophers for me. I am lucky to have him.

Speaking of flowers, as promised, I am including a photo my four month-old granddaughter, Lulu, on Halloween. Her daddy dressed up like a gardener and she was the most beautiful flower in the world. I may not be able to grow real flowers, but I whipped up this costume for MY little flower. She wasn't as thrilled as we were... obviously. Pretty cute, n’est-ce pas?

P.S. Don't miss this amazing bargain!