Garden Porn

Damn you High Country Gardens! Damn you, with your fancy-do, full-color, sinfully salacious catalogues. It says right there in the fine print that your plants are not big enough to spit on, and there you go charging three arms and a leg for them... So why is it that my mouth is watering and my palms are sweating over your sexy Russian Sage? ("Dah! Salvia Petrovska, my lanky desert flower! Would you like some Wodka?") It's just that I can never be sure that my local nursery will have the groovy-woovy xeriscape plants... And with you, the boxes come right to my door. Come hither, indeed. And, oh yeah, what is it with your photos of plants that have been in the ground since dickety-six or ought-two? When your actual sold plants are tee-niny small? I can't deal with that, I really can't. If I'm going to pay 5 bucks for a plant, I want one that's at least the size of a two-liter bottle of Coke. Geez, people, I've got the back forty acres to fill here. Plus, you cram so many of them in one photo, and all I can buy is one, which is gonna look like ass all by itself. Who plants 40 lavenders at a time? People with gardeners and STAFF, that's who. See, now I'm really pissed because you've reminded me I don't have staff. No minions. That sucks, too. Screw you, High Country Gardens. The money's on the dresser. I'm taking a shower.