I love sunflowers. And no, before Paul
start malicious rumours again; I'm as straight as an arrow
(okay, okay, I'm referring to my preferences, not my genitalia).
Anyway. A week before I left for Malaysia, in a moment of inspiration and mad ambition, I decided to weed my flower bed (realized it was about time when I needed safari gear and a hunting rifle to safely roam the garden) and put it to good use.
So, I planted some sunflowers (varying colours, the box stated), carrots and tomatoes. While the tomatoes and carrots died, the sunflowers thrived. Guess I now know who the neighbourhood bully was.
Now, 6 weeks later, the plants are 5-6 feet tall. And the flowers began blooming. Really pretty, even if this statement damages my image of male strength and virility (but hey, somewhere out there, there's bound to be a girl who digs muscle-ripped, tattooed guys who are knee deep in manure lovingly tending to his garden right? Right? Anyone?? Er... harlo harlo?).
Brings some cheer into my dreary life. Like this morning, when I left for work insanely early for a Sunday. Walked out and saw the bright colours of the flowers. Almost talking to me:
"Have a good day ok, TK? Never mind that you woke up at 6am on a Sunday. Never mind that you didn't have breakfast. Never mind that everyone else gets to stay at home in bed. Including us. Have a REALLY good day, ok? We're sure being in the hospital would be more fun."
Now, where did I leave my herbicide?