����Cornelia has been gardening longer than I've been alive, so when she recommends something I take notice. On her advice I bought Wegener's Liquid Organic Growth Promotant (and doesn't THAT just roll off your tongue?).

����I began feeding it to my houseplants towards mid-February when they were coming out of their dormant cycle.

����My plants have gone simply mental. You put a capful of this ooky brown stuff into a litre of water every couple of weeks, water your plants, and they start doing this amazing "let's rumble in the jungle" thing.

����So far, so good, right?

����I mean, so what if the spousal unit's a bit concerned that this vine is going to eventually drop down on him one night while he's watching TV and strangle the life out of him � heck, isn't that what machetes are for?

����Are you with me on this?

����Oh, oh, oh and as if rampant growth wasn't enough, it makes vines that I didn't know could flower cover themselves in hundreds of tiny blossoms.

����Bonus, eh.

����Um, well, not always �

����It appears that there are some plants that you do NOT ever want to have flower while you are standing within 20 feet of them. This purple fuzzy job, whose name I do not know, which started flowering this morning, would fall firmly into this category.

����Those seemingly innocuous orangish flowers look quite harmless, but Mr. Bister, they smell like the oldest, most disgusting sneaker you've ever owned.

����No, wait, that doesn't begin to cover it, there aren't enough nuances there.

����Okay, start with the oldest, most disgusting sneaker you've ever owned. Then have a male cat pee on it. A lot.

����Then leave it out in the sun for a day to ripen.

����Now we're getting close to the wonder that is this plant.

����It took me an hour or so to identify the source of the um "perfume". At first I figured it was the kitty litter. Nope, had been changed the day before.

����Gingerly, I went over to the porch and began investigating the spousal unit's work boots and sneakers. Nope, problem wasn't there. That footwear is gold plated proof that Odour Eaters Are Our Friends.

����Back upstairs. When I went to look under his desk to see if Paul had left any forgotten footwear there, I was hit by a blast of the perfume because the plant sits right beside his desk. Whoooeeeee, we're talking Stink R Us, folks.

����A warm, caring, thoughtful, loving wife would immediately pull out the scissors and shear the blossoms right off that plant, eh.

����Me--because I'm just way, way too easily amused--me, I'm just waiting to see his face tonight when he sits at his desk.