Why I'm Not a Farmer

A few weeks ago, I received my Kraft recipe magazine in the mail. While looking at the recipes which I'll probably never, ever make because that's how I roll, I came upon a page that had a picture of a head of lettuce. On this page was a card that had lettuce seeds embedded in it.

Fast forward to a week ago in which I play like I'm a farmer by planting the card, per the instructions, into the pot filled with dark rich soil. I watered the soil, put the pot onto our deck and waited for Mother Nature to do the rest.

Imagine my surprise when Thursday morning, I look out on our deck and see a beautiful head of lettuce sitting in the pot. I rush outside, pick up the head of lettuce and see a solid bundle of roots. I'm thinking to myself that I'm pretty good at this whole farmer thing. Sheesh, if I can make lettuce grow in a few days, imagine what I can do to help world hunger!

I scoop the head of lettuce up, come downstairs, and proceed to take pictures. It's like I've just given birth but not Adam Lambert's lovechild and I'm thinking about what to say on Facebook and/or Twitter because this amazing news just has to be shared.

Later, I drive to work to pack up my stuff. My darling husband is supposed to meet me later to help move some of the big stuff. He finally arrives when he asks me about the dirt on the table.

"Dirt on the table?" I asked.

I notice the twinkle in his eye and the mischievous grin.

It dawns on me that he GOT me big time. Yes, my "darling" husband decided to play a trick on me and because I'm gullible at times optimistic and chose to believe that I was the best farmer ever, I fell for it.