����I walk by the seed displays and really, I do try to exercise a little self control, but those darn lupins get me every time.

����I am so very gullible.

����So year after year after year I come home clutching my little packet with the pretty picture of the exotic coloured lupin spikes and go through the same routine--scarify the seeds by shaking them in a jar with some sand, then put them between a moistened paper towel inside a plastic baggie.

����As each tough little pod cracks open and the tiny plant begins to peek out, I race out to my lupin bed on the other side of the pond and plant it in amongst the others.

����I tell myself that THIS will be the year, that what I'm planting now will surprise me next spring with a rainbow of colours instead of the purple freakin' lupins I get year after year. The packet promises me a rainbow and what do I end up with? Barney wannabe lupins. Year after year after year �

����Me?

����Bitter?

����Well maybe a little, at least until today, eh.

����Look closely at that sea of purple lupins--can you see the one that's not like the others, the unexpected present from last year's planting?

����Can you see the Waldo of my lupin world?

����Ta DAH. The picture really doesn't capture the colour. It's a wonderful salmon pink with bits of yellow. When I saw it I immediately wanted to form a conga line in celebration. Sadly, one person and two cats do not a conga line make.

����It's times like that when you really regret not going for the pet orangutan, know what I mean? I'm betting your basic pet orangutan could do a mean conga.

����Hmmmmm, maybe next year.