Let’s face it: Stella wasn’t a greedy person. She was a spinster, lived alone, and was retired. She had worked as a nurse all her life. She had looked forward to her retirement. “At last! After all these years I shall be able to potter all day in the garden!”
She owned her own home, and it had a fairly extensive garden. It was one of those gardens that looked bigger than it was. One could get lost in it. Go through a gap in the shrubbery and a new vista, a new “room”, was revealed. Stella had a “theme” for each area; vegetables, flowers for cut flowers, herbs, and so on. The problem was that Stella could live satisfactorily in retirement but there wasn’t much left over for much else. That was when her lawn mower broke down, her garden rake disintegrated, her hedge clippers fell apart. It seemed that at least half the garden tools had gone on strike.
It would be simple enough to replace a garden trowel or something, but to replace half the tools at once was a burdensome impossibility. Stella conceived a plan! She advertised through the local Garden Society that the following weekend she would have an “Open Garden”. It’s true! Stella’s garden was a picture. At her gate she would have a sign and an honesty tin with a slot cut in the lid: GARDEN SHOW: ENTRY BY GOLD COIN.
When it came to gardening Stella wasn’t simply a weed-puller; she was an artist. She arranged the watering can, and the wheel barrow, and the spade, and all the garden tools (even the broken ones), in a nonchalant way around the garden, as if to say the gardener was busy but had just taken a break for a cup of tea. It was artistic; it was… well… very Stella. The arrangement in the delphinium bed was perfect: all that the placing of the watering can and spade needed was a robin to perch on the spade handle to create a postcard scene!
The Saturday was sunny. Quite a crowd came on this first day. Stella didn’t want to appear to be nosy, but at the start she could hear the gold coins go clang as they were put in the tin at the gate. She knew the tin was collecting even more coins when it ceased to clang as if it was empty. What a successful day!
When she went to collect the honesty tin in the late afternoon it had been stolen. As had all her garden tools. Even her spade that awaited the perching robin had disappeared.
What a bunch of rotten ne’er-do-wells! Of course she should have been watching over the whole thing but still…Hopefully when she calls the police they don’t have some sort of fine for her for not having a business license or some such and can just find the crooks, but there doesn’t seem to be much hope.
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The police might have to dig for information – that is if they can find a shovel.
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Poor Stella, but it was a little bit greedy to ask for gold…
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She didn’t want the paper money to get wet if it rained.
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That sounds reasonable enough.
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Easiest heist ever.
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I see you like to call a spade a spade.
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Yes sir. And a hoe a hoe.
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LOL. I think a fun song could be: You are a hoe and I am a rake.
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Lolz. Can we do hand motions please? I want to do hand motions.
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Ha ha ha ha !! I’m sure the present company is too polite for that!
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Ahh, too bad.
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It could’ve been fun…
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Hand motions are always fun. It’s the rule.
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OK – I might start practising.
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It only came to around 100 dollars…big deal…I…
I mean…”they” didn’t get away with too much…by the way….does anyone know how to fix a broken lawn mower I have?
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I had a 4 year old nephew who too the lawn mower totally apart and then put it together – all on his own. These day’s he’s a mechanic for big trucks. And as for the $100 – pooh! that;s not even lunch money.
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Well I have a job for him….and to remove the serial number off the lawn mower…I got my reasons.
Stella doesn’t need to call the police either. She didn’t really need it.
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I’ve found that if you simply paint the lawn mower the cops don’t check the serial number. They’re always looking for a red mower or a green one etc. and if they’re looking for a blue mower and you’ve painted it yellow they just drive right passed.
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Might have to give that a try. 100 bucks may get it painted.
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There’s no need to pay for the paint job, Max. Take it in, get it painted, pick it up, disappear. Who the hell taught you?
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I must be a novice crook. Obi Wan didn’t teach me well.
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Lawn mowers were never Obi-Wan Kenobi’s thing.
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Apparently not. I can kill Darth Vader but I can’t get a lawn mower painted.
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That is a necessary if painful lesson in functioning of society.
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As the gardener says: the plot thickens.
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Didn’t expect any less from you.
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