My wife and I live in Hannover, Germany, and back in 2014, we moved from an awful apartment building in the city, to a lovely house on the outskirts of town. Having a house with a yard gave us enough space for a garden, which I’ve discussed a little bit in my earlier rant about growing tomatoes in order to overcome my murderous hatred of them.
This past summer, my wife and I did a lot of gardening and landscaping. We were out there pretty much every day, leveling a hill, building raised beds and planting all sorts of things — including 4 tiny rhododendrons. We pampered those rhododendrons like colicky babies; they got the very best soil, perfect access to sunlight and copious amounts of fresh well water to get them started. We gave them everything, and 3 out of 4 of them showed a little gratitude by growing and blooming. The 4th one, however, just sat there doing nothing — like that weirdo brat at the daycare center you just know will grow up to own a model train store.
My wife and I devoted more attention to this ungrateful little bitch than any other plant, until eventually we just shook our heads in resignation. Maybe I didn’t use enough planting soil, I thought to myself. Maybe I should have dug the hole deeper or something. And then my wife finally broke the silence, saying:
“Maybe it is a numb-nuts.”
Oh God, My Wife Is German. 
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