The one thing that stops Martha Stewart and I from being identical twins is that I totally and utterly despise gardening. I'm pretty much only interested in growing things that I can eat, and as far as edible plants go I'm usually too lazy to tackle anything besides herbs.
This year, however, I broke down and bought some patio tomatoes to stick in the planters on my front steps. These planters have had a long succession of short-lived greenery in them, and that, combined with fact that the planters may have once been situated in a cemetery (don't ask) made me think I should replace the dirt in them with fresh potting soil before I used them to grow food in. So I bought a bag of this:
Luckily I was able to bribe Nut Boy into helping me empty out the old soil and dump in our new sparkling fresh organic dirt, which the bag promised would feed and nourish our plants for 2 months. But as we spread this glorious mixture out we noticed it was lumpy. And had half-composted mysterious things in it. And it smelled...well...organic.
I had to read the fine print on the back of the bag, but I finally discovered the magic ingredient: poultry litter. Which I'm guessing is a euphemism for chicken poop. And I guess I could let the smell get to me, let it annoy me as I go to check on the progress of my little tomato plants, but I'm going to roll with the punches. As I bend over those planters every morning I'm going to take a big whiff, smile, and say, "Ahhh. Organic!"
Then I'll gag slightly and go back inside to my odorless sewing machine.