Worm Farms: They're SO Romantic
Now that the morning surprise-honey-here's-your-present piece of the anniversary has come and gone, I am free to report that what Sam wanted, in celebration of our 9th, was a worm farm.
I HAD asked. I could have gone to the fishing store and bought a gift certificate, but they're so non-corporeal, gift certificates are, that I seldom give them. Sam's older kids have worked out a Super Gift Certificate program, which involves announcements of the certificate done in calligraphy on scrolls -- now, that's a plan. But I haven't got that kind of energy.
So I had asked, as I say -- if one was to go to the fishing store, honey, and get you your heart's desire, what would it be? A worm farm, he said. I want a house for the worms.
Apparently the biosphere isn't big enough -- you can only house a couple of worms at a time. And then of course, the child names them, and there would be trauma galore if you threaded them on hooks. Apparently he doesn't mind if you thread anonymous worms on hooks.
So I went down to the fishing store, which has a fiber glass shark emerging from the outside wall, in case you were confused and thought they were selling farm equipment, and I told them I needed a worm farm for an anniversary present and could I see their best one.
To my delight, the work farm is about the size of a styrofoam cooler -- well, actually, I think it IS a styrofoam cooler -- so it won't fit in the refrigerator, which is where the maggots lived when Sam was fishing in England.
(I googled for the maggots, cause I so dearly wanted to be able to link to a picture of the bins of jumping multi-colored maggots for sale in England, but there's nothing there that I can find, so you must imagine it for yourself.)
The worm farm, at any rate, fits not in the refrigerator. I guess it goes downstairs. I'm hoping outside, but who knows.
I got back from my walk this morning, and Sam, who had discovered his present (well, it'd be pretty hard to miss a giant styrofoam cooler on the dining room table, wouldn't it), was happily taking it apart and examining its pieces. Look! he said. This is so neat! You can open it from the top or the bottom! Which is great! Cause when you put the worms in they go down to the bottom!
Oh, frabjous day!
I myself received a Big and Flashy necklace. You can't ever have enough of them, if you're me, so I'm happy, too.
And we'll go to dinner at our favorite restaurant. (Can you get excellent Mexican food in Pittsburgh? Oh, yes. Yes, you can.)
But I'm glad I've got a year to think up the next present, cause I'm not sure at all how one tops a worm farm.
I HAD asked. I could have gone to the fishing store and bought a gift certificate, but they're so non-corporeal, gift certificates are, that I seldom give them. Sam's older kids have worked out a Super Gift Certificate program, which involves announcements of the certificate done in calligraphy on scrolls -- now, that's a plan. But I haven't got that kind of energy.
So I had asked, as I say -- if one was to go to the fishing store, honey, and get you your heart's desire, what would it be? A worm farm, he said. I want a house for the worms.
Apparently the biosphere isn't big enough -- you can only house a couple of worms at a time. And then of course, the child names them, and there would be trauma galore if you threaded them on hooks. Apparently he doesn't mind if you thread anonymous worms on hooks.
So I went down to the fishing store, which has a fiber glass shark emerging from the outside wall, in case you were confused and thought they were selling farm equipment, and I told them I needed a worm farm for an anniversary present and could I see their best one.
To my delight, the work farm is about the size of a styrofoam cooler -- well, actually, I think it IS a styrofoam cooler -- so it won't fit in the refrigerator, which is where the maggots lived when Sam was fishing in England.
(I googled for the maggots, cause I so dearly wanted to be able to link to a picture of the bins of jumping multi-colored maggots for sale in England, but there's nothing there that I can find, so you must imagine it for yourself.)
The worm farm, at any rate, fits not in the refrigerator. I guess it goes downstairs. I'm hoping outside, but who knows.
I got back from my walk this morning, and Sam, who had discovered his present (well, it'd be pretty hard to miss a giant styrofoam cooler on the dining room table, wouldn't it), was happily taking it apart and examining its pieces. Look! he said. This is so neat! You can open it from the top or the bottom! Which is great! Cause when you put the worms in they go down to the bottom!
Oh, frabjous day!
I myself received a Big and Flashy necklace. You can't ever have enough of them, if you're me, so I'm happy, too.
And we'll go to dinner at our favorite restaurant. (Can you get excellent Mexican food in Pittsburgh? Oh, yes. Yes, you can.)
But I'm glad I've got a year to think up the next present, cause I'm not sure at all how one tops a worm farm.
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