Normally a fairly reasonable man, my husband belongs to that small group of hopeful consumers that actually shops from TV commercials. The more outlandish claim a product makes, the sweeter the deal in his eyes. We have putty that can hold a man suspended in mid air. We have knives that can slice a tomato after cutting through a tin can. We have a juicer, numerous grills named after boxers and green plastic bags and vacuum sealers to preserve all of that grilled juice. We have machines that steam our floors, our clothes, and my temper. And everything in our house smells like oranges, because we "clean with the power of Orange!"

I am used to his shopping whimsy, and usually, it is a harmless experiment. (A harmless experiment that smells like Orange Glo.)

But his most recent purchase is different.

One Saturday back in January, he and my toddler were watching TV together, and a commercial for "The Miracle Butterfly Garden" magically appeared before them. They were equally enchanted. She fetched the phone, he the credit card. In 6-8 weeks a package arrived at our door.

Much to my 4 year old's dismay, it was not filled with big, beautiful floating butterflies, it was filled with a half dozen freeze-dried worms. Still, sickly looking caterpillars that were supposed to "wake-up" after an easy 30-step process. Since nothing in the box resembled a Monarch, (except maybe the receipt with the same total as Queen Elizabeth's white glove allowance) my daughter quickly lost interest and went outside to look for some real butterflies, because basically, for $29.99 + shipping and handling, we got some dead worms in old yogurt containers.

Even my husband was unimpressed. "But wait! Since I was one of the first 100 people ordering from this special TV offer, I got a free ladybug farm!"

And indeed, there was another plastic container of bugs.

However, they were not red, nor were particularly ladylike. In fact, they were pretty big, scary and hairy. I wrestled a bottle of Tequila from one of them, and gave them an early release. I'm no entomologist, but I'm pretty sure they would survive the next ice age.

On the other hand, the butterflies didn't survive the air conditioning surge in the UPS truck. I think the "food capsule" included in the kit was actually cyanide. Or, for orders to Alaska or Hawaii, formaldehyde.

It's been a couple of weeks now, and forensics released their bodies to us long ago, but my husband still looks on like a soap opera heroine saying they are just in an extended coma. He is genuinely shocked that mail order butterflies shipped in a cardboard box over 3 months ago didn't stand much of a chance for survival. I hate to break it to him that those aren't cocoons--they're death shrouds.

Although I can't be entirely certain yet, I suspect the official cause of death to be either from a particularly brutal Ginsu knife fight with the "ladybugs" or by Agent Orange Glo.

However, I am waiting 6-8 weeks for the Guthy-Renker Autopsy Kit to confirm.

© 2008 Tracey Henry

Divamail me! Divamail@SuburbanDiva.com.