Chia Pets are Misleading

From the cool holographic card that comes with your Chia Pet, you would assume that once in full, glorious bloom, your Pet would resemble a lush, green-furred, evenly-coated [insert Chia Pet type here, i.e., puppy, cat, clown, Mr. T.]. After all, that’s what the picture shows, so you would think it. But then, you would be wrong.
 
There is no such thing as a Chia Pet in “full, glorious bloom.” I just quoted my own self right there. Anyway, once your Chia Pet reaches what could only be termed maturity, following a gross pubescent stage not unlike that which humans endure (complete with an unpleasant, not easily identifiable smell and…drippings), the most you could hope for is an anemic collection of what looks like lice-infested weeds. Were it not for the puppy head and tail that bookend said collection of buggy greens, any resemblance to a thing would escape the casual passerby.
 
I’m disappointed.
 
I was emotionally invested in my Chia Pet. I even named him after the puppy Kim once brought home from work for us to keep, whom we named Norman after erroneously identifying her as a male (it’s hard at that stage, people. Trust me), and who Meghan made us give back due to allergies, after which I was so upset that on my way to Mark’s house to doggy-sit Hayley, The Greatest Dog in the World Besides Shags, I lost my PHAT Gucci Sunglasses!
 
So, you know. I had high hopes. Admittedly, they were of the high, apple pie in the sky sort. Alas, Norman was not to reach his full potential. And you know, I can’t blame him. When I look at him, I am filled with a disenfranchised resignation. I have to remind myself that we’re both victims of a false marketing culture gone horribly awry and my own considerable emotional baggage.
 
I’m sorry, Norman. There was nothing either of us could do. We were doomed from the start.