"Oh." She paused. Then, "I thought horticulture

"Oh." She paused. Then, "I thought horticulture was the study of prostitutes." It was little moments like these that reminded me why I loved her so much.

"No dear," I corrected her, "horticulture did mean that back in the day, but now it includes sl*ts and h*es too. Its root word, whore, can now refer to more than paid sex."

"So this means," she replied excitedly, "that my degree in horticulture will qualify me to work in massage parlours as well as plant research labs." It's win-win I said . We toaste

d this excellent decision. The next semester, she took two courses: "BOT101: Venus Fly Traps & Their Prey" and "BIO 123: Basic Swedish Massage." Earning a degree in horticulture

was about as much fun as weighing graphite down at the pencil factory. But I had made the promise to my sick mother to get a horticulture degree. She'd been on her deathbed for 18

long years. My promise was the only way she would finally let go and die. And now, despite the rashes and boredom, plants were my life. And Becca.,oh, Becca. I ache for you. Thank

Goodness for Brannigans, and because it is odorless nobody will know. Remember Brannigans, the No Smell No Tell Brandy. Available at fine retailers like: [INSERT LOCAL STORE CHAIN]

I turned off the TV and ran straight down to Bargain Basement Brandy-o-rama, and bought a casket-load of Brannigan's Odorless Brandy for my next party, to which I invited no-one

Who didn't like the nonstop techno mixtapes from the 90's on my youtube channel. That meant my Cousin Vinny could come and dance the night away. Cousin Harry would bring his wolf.