Lawrence

He was a leathery old fart. He always smelled of stale tobacco, mostly because he liked to roll his own stogies from a special mix of exotic plants that he harvested in his many travels. He had a fondness for gin, and thought of himself as sweetly dangerous with the ladies.
"Just do exactly as I say and your wish will be granted by the next full moon," the bottle lady said. Nettle roots pulled up in a thunderstorm should have been easy....but Lawrence didn't think she would know the difference. It was a perfectly calm evening two days later when he pulled a handful of nettles from the muddy riverbank, rendering them totally worthless for their intended purpose.

By the light of the next full moon, Lawrence realized his mistake.