My name is Eulalia Boylem-Mashem (of the Dublin Boylem-Mashems), and I am at my wit’s end. My husband, Bernard, began this madness innocently enough. He decided to plant sweet potatoes in our backyard, claiming they would provide a lovely, lush ground cover. Little did I know that his enthusiasm would root itself into something far more disturbing.
At first, it was merely an obsession with the garden—he spent hours watering, weeding, and speaking tenderly to the sweet potato vines. But then he began insisting that he was becoming a sweet potato. He now spends his mornings sunbathing in the backyard, claiming he’s “photosynthesizing.” Worse, he has taken to bathing in bat guano, insisting that it provides essential ‘soil nutrients.’ Our neighbors think he’s joined some bizarre cult, and I don’t know what to tell them.
Eulalia sent Tess a photo of her husband, Bernard, moisturizing in a nitrogen-rich bath of bat guano.
Understandably, Eulalia is on her last thread of twine.
Last night, he refused to come to bed, insisting that his “tubers” needed the cool, moist soil of the garden to sleep properly. He’s even begun mumbling something he calls “Root Language,” which sounds like a series of grunts and muffled whispers.
Tess, I love my husband. I truly do. But I’m losing him to this strange, sweet potato delusion. Please, help me!
Desperately,
Eulalia Boylem-Mashem
In a follow-up letter, Eulalia confided in Tess that Bernard was in danger of loosing his job. He couldn’t make it from the house to the car without yielding to pull of the sweet potato.
And then came the delusional I Am the King of Tubers! phase.
My Dearest Eulalia,
Oh, my dear Eulalia Boylem-Mashem—your name alone hints at a natural talent for dealing with the strange world of tubers. Yet, I must admit, even I have never encountered a case quite like this.
Your husband is clearly experiencing a deeply rooted identity crisis (pun absolutely intended). But before you panic, consider this: a person who believes they are a sweet potato is not beyond salvation. In fact, I once counseled a rooster who thought he was a turnip. He went on to become a motivational speaker.
Your husband is clearly experiencing a deeply rooted identity crisis (pun absolutely intended). But before you panic, consider this: a person who believes they are a sweet potato is not beyond salvation. In fact, I once counseled a rooster who thought he was a turnip. He went on to become a motivational speaker.
First, lean into his sweet potato fantasy, but with gentle humor. Perhaps you could create a “Sweet Potato Spa” in the backyard—a place where he can indulge his need for soil and sunshine in a way that keeps him safe. Offer him a nutrient-rich mud bath (non-toxic, of course) and tell him you’re exploring organic guano alternatives that don’t involve climbing bat caves.
Second, try grounding him (pun also intended) by connecting his sweet potato passion to something productive. Could he teach a gardening class or join the local gardening club? Giving him an audience for his tuber wisdom might help him return to his senses.
But most importantly, don’t forget to gently remind him that, while sweet potatoes are wonderful, they don’t have the privilege of loving, supportive spouses like you. That alone should help him see the beauty of his humanity.
And remember, Eulalia, in the garden of life, we all need a little mulch of understanding and a touch of sunlight to grow.
Warmly, Tess Twinehart
The Intervention
A gentle gathering of supportive WLBOTT Elders and religious leaders, along with his very torqued wife, led to Bernard’s decision to seek professional help.
Bernard’s choice of rehab was the Home Depot Gardening Center. In honor of his successful growth experience, they installed this commemorative painting:
