I’m a sucker for gadgets. In fact, I’m going to admit something that I probably shouldn’t admit to anyone, but here goes. If I thought I could get away with it without the postman (and my husband) making fun of me, I’d order anything and everything off of those infomercials. That little sandwich maker? Where the lady takes last night’s leftovers and prepares a hearty omelet? Mmmm good. The bags where you suck all the air out and are able to fit all of your winter clothes into a cigar box? Hell yeah. I actually ordered a Ronco Glass & Bottle Cutter AND the Rhinestone and Stud Machine when I was a kid. And I actually own a Pasta Pro. (It sucks, in case you were wondering.) So the truth is out.

You may giggle quietly among yourselves.

So I’m no stranger to catalog and mail order. I love receiving packages, and I figure, heck, it just may work. That said, my most recent purchase came in today. It’s a package of eight terra cotta balls (each about the size of a malted milk ball) which contain seeds for a lovely hummingbird/butterfly garden. You just “place on ground in full sun DON’T BURY!”, keep moist, and “soon you will enjoy bouquets of wildflower blossoms!” Laugh all you want. I’ll just be enjoying my lovely garden.

But here’s the funny. It’s the invoice. And I hope it shows up on my credit card statement, so that Mr. Nerd can ponder the significance before asking me if there’s anything I need to tell him. On the invoice, in all caps, it says I purchased “HUMMBUTT SEEDBALLZ.”

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