By now you will have surmised that my Agaricus was no Agaricus at all. This became painfully apparent when it matured and turned into the amorphous yellow blob pictured above, absent the characteristic tribe of elves.
Well, what the hell is it, then, you ask? Here at Spinster HQ we are now identifying the specimen as some species of Calvatia, a weird puffball-type dealio that is reportedly delicious when served with aerosol cheese and a $6 Vinho Verde, but I personally wouldn’t eat that thing with a ten-foot pole.
Crapulently, my revised identification comes too late for me to secure the lucrative keynote speaker gig at FungoCon 09.
O the ridicule I have endured. O the ignominy. Sure, it’s all well and good to observe an enormous excrescence of spores, snap a photo with the old camerafone, and declare to an audience of casual blog readers — who, let’s face it, only come around to see whether they can catch me in an antifeminist faux pas and couldn’t care less about heartwarming nature crap screw-ups — “check out this Agaricus!” And even Savage Death Islandists are likely to take the spinster aunt’s word for it, since spinster aunts (a) enjoy a close genetic relationship with mushrooms (the obstreperal lobe is composed of a pulsating spore mass) and (b) are globally renowned, award-nominated, rockstar fungusperts (now you know why we always get the best tables in restaurants). But my colleagues in the Cottonmouth County Mycological Society, a cut-throat gang of ne’er-do-wells if ever there was one, will never look upon me with the same adoring eyes again.