Weed 'em and reap

There are one or two things I do fairly well and a whole bunch of others at which I have no skill whatsoever. Gardening, unfortunately, falls into the latter category. My daughter has put gorgeous potted plants on my patio each Spring for the past two years, and I've enjoyed them immensely even as I watched them die before their time. One year I bought a beautiful, healthy-looking ficus tree, and as I drove it home (I swear this is true), all the leaves turned black and fell off the branches.

I'm telling you this as a way to help you understand why I'd let a common dandelion grow right at my back door. I know it's a weed. I don't think it's pretty. It does not smell good. I just wanted to see how long the darned thing would continue to grow. Well, ladies and gentlemen,
ta-daaaaaaaaaaa:

One tiny piece of white dandelion fluff floated to the ground, wedged itself into the narrow crack between my patio and the concrete foundation of my house, and grew to giant beanstalk proportions. It did this all on its own, with no assistance from me. Or, I should say, no interference from me. I didn't overwater it, I didn't underwater it, I didn't do anything. It obviously got the right amount of sunlight, too, along with whatever nutrients it needed to absorb right out of the air. So, I ask you, what's the deal with the expensive nursery plants?

I've thought about planting morning glories, honeysuckles, or some other kind of vines on the neighbor's side of the fence, then just ignoring them and hoping they'll eventually grow over the top to my side. Having seen this Amazon dandelion, however, I'm a little bit afraid. It isn't too hard now to imagine being attacked by rapidly advancing morning glory tendrils that grow over my legs and strap me to my lawn chair.

Hmmmm. I'm pretty laid back. I wonder if I could learn to like dandelions if I'd give 'em half a chance.