Happier than a pig in the mud!
As a kid I held gardening in contempt as a hobby, right up there with bird watching. I mean - get a life, right? The garden was a woman's thing in my household and they got right pissy about it too. Mom and Grandma almost came to blows in Mom's garden. They both thought they knew everything, they both had their own way of doing things and they both had to be in charge. (never mind that the damned thing was over an acre in size and there was plenty of room for them both to do their own thing). No way was I getting in the middle of that. My father in law was a gardner and coincidentally the world's biggest asshole. He grew disgusting vegetables and made disgusting food out of them and got offended when I refused to eat it. If his own kids wouldn't eat the shit he made that was alright - but if I turned my nose up at it as well... well! The bloody nerve!
As a young old fart now, I have come to reconsider the error of my ways. (I seem to be doing a lot of that lately...). I could get into gardening but only if a bunch of conditions were met: I would want to have the time to do it right. I've seen so many people start them with the best of intentions and then they end up choked with weeds. I would want a proper potting shed and green house, and I would want a tiller and any other useful gadgets. I would want to go in whole hog - or not at all. Maybe it'll be something I try in the next life. :)