‘Spud has stolen my marigolds! I’ve found two of them but one is still missing.’ I announced.
Tom and Mr Uhdd exchange perplexed glances
I continue my rant, ‘I was going to plant them out today: but he ran off with the tray, I found two down by the bonfire, but goodness knows where he has taken the third. They’ve survived the frost only to be trashed by the dog!’
‘Ahhh,’ says Mr Uhdd, ‘I get it now, I thought you were talking about Marigold gloves, not bedding plants, I couldn’t see what the problem is, I mean how many rubber gloves do you need?’
Tom shook his head in that ‘Oh mum’ sort of way, that teenagers do.
The marigold thief
The third plant was eventually found by the rhubarb patch (which survived the frost, I’m pleased to say, as I’ve not made a crumble yet.)
What I didn’t tell Tom and Mr Uhdd, the Marigold gloves by the sink? They are both right handed, I keep wearing the left ones out, I wonder how that happened?
Spud also had a chew on a log, whilst he was in sack cloth and ashes mode