Stubborn Marigolds

Everyone has a good dish in them. Or at least they have the potential to make a good dish. I've known people who treat the kitchen like some sort of torture chamber. They'd do anything not to step foot on the tiled floor of a kitchen, and will tell you all about it.
And yet, these same people are able to make one dish, and make it very well. Usually they'll call it something like "My World Famous Potatos" or "Magic Roast". And it an extent, they're right. Not only can they put together a meal, but it comes out wonderfully.
But give them a recipe for anything else, and the magic is gone. You're just begging for either fire or food poisoning.

I think this wierd pecularity of human nature extends to plants. For example, Marigolds.
Not the basic marigold is an unassuming little plant. It appeals to everyone because it's pretty, and small. It won't take over a yard, and once you plant it the green guy will just stay there and do what it does best. Turn green, and blossom.
For everyone else, that is. Not for me.
I can't keep marigolds alive. I've tried, but they turn on me like rabid, suicidal lemmings. There's something about the relationship between me, the gardener, and the, the plant. It just doesn't work out well.

I'm trying again to see if I can break the curse, so we'll see how it goes. But if my experiment doesn't work and the plants turn from lush little shrubs to a pile of dry tinder, I'm not going to be too surprised. I'll just mark it up to fate.

It's generally understood that everyone is good and something. I take the longer view that everyone is horrifically bad at something, too. No one can be a complete master of their environment, and that's the way it should be. The secret is finding out exactly what it is, and living accordingly. My weakness is marigolds. Not too bad for an Achilles heel.

It could have been taxes. Or morning glories. Thankfully it's not either. I'd have been very put out without morning glories.