Every time I plant something I do exactly the same thing: I scatter far too much seed around, then a week later kabam! Hundreds of tiny little seedlings emerge, hopefully poking out of the soil and into the sunshine, eager to grow, little aware of the awful fate awaiting them.
I'll be outside, anxiously hovering over my pot (in this case rocket), when the Galumph will stop by. He'll peer in, sigh, look at me, look at seedlings and then say, "You know you're going to have to thin them."
"Noooooooo!", I'll wail. "I can't! I'll be a murderer of innocent plants. Don't make me do it!"
And the worst of it is that I only scatter so much seed in the first place because I so desperately want the plants to germinate, and figure the more the better. I'll be standing there with the seed packet in my hand and think "Oh well, bottoms up!", and before you can say Eruca vesicaria three times quickly half the packet is in the pot. But then my misplaced enthusiasm turns into this horrid survival of the fittest scenario when every single seed comes up with the goods.
Eeeeeeek! I'm so sorry, little plants. I'll just be over here with my eyes closed, letting you sort it out for yourselves.