Marigolds are the sort of guys who still hold doors open for tomatoes, and wait for those tomatoes to unlock the front door and turn on a light before driving off. Marigolds broil great burgers on the Weber. They prefer beer but can open champagne and wine bottles like connoisseurs. Marigolds give little kids piggy back rides, do their own oil changes, nap on the couch, and accompany you to any cultural event you request as long as there's a steak & baked potato dinner beforehand.
Marigolds love teaching a kid to bait a hook. They can be appropriately somber when that same kid buries a dead goldfish in a metal Band-aid box in the backyard.
Marigolds are not perfect. They forget to close the sunroof in the monsoon season. Marigolds leave the toilet seat up. They often smell like aged sweaty soccer socks, and ALWAYS overload the washing machine. Still, they play frisbee with dogs and in-laws at family reunions, even if it isn't their family. They rinse their dishes, but don't actually load the dishwasher.
Marigolds call their moms every other Saturday without being nagged. They are the sort of person you want to have the extra key to your house.
I've not tried online matchmaking sites. I've been misled too often! The perfect sensitive macho marigold that is supposed to ward off garden pests is the plant on my patio afflicted with pests.
What's eating the marigolds? Some pest is systematically mowing off my dream dates. Maybe the marigolds were creating fictitious online personas to attract gullible tomatoes.
© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder
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