| General Non-Fiction posted September 23, 2021 |
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Abduction attempt foiled by flimsy tines
Pokin' the Pumpkin
by Elizabeth Emerald
My friend Scott, vacuum repairman, is the solicitous guardian of a shrinking garden. His promising tomato crop has been promised to another, or so the wannabe-promisee, Sarah-the-Stalker, has decreed.
The woman is blight personified; Sarah, a sporadic customer who stops in to purchase bags for her Dirt Devil, hails from Scott knows not where.
She has haunted his property for months, brazenly entering the yard at her whim, regardless of whether he's present.
One of Scott's neighbors, noting frequent nighttime visits by a strange woman, clad in Sarah's trademark fuchsia shorts and six-inch silver platform sandals, inquired snidely as to Scott's shady side business.
A few months ago, Sarah appropriated one of Scott's tomato plants staked in the side yard. Disappointed by the paltry yield from the moribund plant, which she acknowledges water-logging, Sarah turned her attention to Scott's back garden.
Once, in my presence, Sarah had the hubris to request that Scott remove the fence and overhead netting, under the guise of concern for the health of the hemmed in plants. I wryly remarked that Scott has lost far more plants to thievery than to containment.
Sarah is the prime suspect in the ongoing depletion of the juicy fruits of Scott's labor. We figure she stands on a chair, leans over the fence, and plucks the tomatoes with a grabber tool.
All the while, she's had her eye on Scott's sole pumpkin, now grown to impressive size (amateurly speaking). He's been pleasantly surprised to find it untouched.
I stopped by this afternoon to confirm its presence; it lay undisturbed.
Directly above it were splayed the plastic tines of a busted rake.
My friend Scott, vacuum repairman, is the solicitous guardian of a shrinking garden. His promising tomato crop has been promised to another, or so the wannabe-promisee, Sarah-the-Stalker, has decreed.
The woman is blight personified; Sarah, a sporadic customer who stops in to purchase bags for her Dirt Devil, hails from Scott knows not where.
She has haunted his property for months, brazenly entering the yard at her whim, regardless of whether he's present.
One of Scott's neighbors, noting frequent nighttime visits by a strange woman, clad in Sarah's trademark fuchsia shorts and six-inch silver platform sandals, inquired snidely as to Scott's shady side business.
A few months ago, Sarah appropriated one of Scott's tomato plants staked in the side yard. Disappointed by the paltry yield from the moribund plant, which she acknowledges water-logging, Sarah turned her attention to Scott's back garden.
Once, in my presence, Sarah had the hubris to request that Scott remove the fence and overhead netting, under the guise of concern for the health of the hemmed in plants. I wryly remarked that Scott has lost far more plants to thievery than to containment.
Sarah is the prime suspect in the ongoing depletion of the juicy fruits of Scott's labor. We figure she stands on a chair, leans over the fence, and plucks the tomatoes with a grabber tool.
All the while, she's had her eye on Scott's sole pumpkin, now grown to impressive size (amateurly speaking). He's been pleasantly surprised to find it untouched.
I stopped by this afternoon to confirm its presence; it lay undisturbed.
Directly above it were splayed the plastic tines of a busted rake.
The woman is blight personified; Sarah, a sporadic customer who stops in to purchase bags for her Dirt Devil, hails from Scott knows not where.
She has haunted his property for months, brazenly entering the yard at her whim, regardless of whether he's present.
One of Scott's neighbors, noting frequent nighttime visits by a strange woman, clad in Sarah's trademark fuchsia shorts and six-inch silver platform sandals, inquired snidely as to Scott's shady side business.
A few months ago, Sarah appropriated one of Scott's tomato plants staked in the side yard. Disappointed by the paltry yield from the moribund plant, which she acknowledges water-logging, Sarah turned her attention to Scott's back garden.
Once, in my presence, Sarah had the hubris to request that Scott remove the fence and overhead netting, under the guise of concern for the health of the hemmed in plants. I wryly remarked that Scott has lost far more plants to thievery than to containment.
Sarah is the prime suspect in the ongoing depletion of the juicy fruits of Scott's labor. We figure she stands on a chair, leans over the fence, and plucks the tomatoes with a grabber tool.
All the while, she's had her eye on Scott's sole pumpkin, now grown to impressive size (amateurly speaking). He's been pleasantly surprised to find it untouched.
I stopped by this afternoon to confirm its presence; it lay undisturbed.
Directly above it were splayed the plastic tines of a busted rake.
 Recognized |
#38 September 2021 |
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