The oak tree was quite beside itself. It had heard (just hearsay apparently but usually that was reliable) that when cut down it was to be used to make furniture.
“I shall be made into furniture,” said the oak, “not ghastly firewood like that cherry tree next to me. I would imagine it will be beautiful furniture for the upper classes. After all, my grain is very impressive indeed.”
“I’m happy to be firewood,” said the cherry tree. “At least I shall serve some purpose and help to keep others warm.”
“Oh you’re so basic, so primitive, so uninspiring,” said the oak. “Furniture is my destiny, my calling, my vocation.”
And indeed it came to pass… The cherry tree was cut into firewood.
The oak was made into furniture; classroom desks. And some naughty little boy scratched the word FART into the wood.
Humphrey wasn’t the most practical gardener this side of the Mississippi. It wasn’t just in gardening where his impractical bent lay. For example, when he tried to hang a tea-towel rack in his kitchen he attempted to nail in the screws with a hammer. When someone suggested he use a screwdriver instead, he hammered at the screws with the wrong end of the screwdriver.
Out in his garden he had discovered a new way to save on spending. He planted several rows of salted peanuts. None came up of course. When he complained to the storekeeper that the peanuts he had been sold had not been pollinated he was simply sniggered at. Out of the entire bag of peanuts not a single salted peanut sprouted. Humphrey was affronted by the snigger. He gave up gardening altogether.
Then he lost his job. His boss had told him to file some documents. Humphrey used a file from his tool box, and that didn’t go down too well.
Today he’s self-employed. He works as a cabinet maker. His furniture sells for hundreds. Everything is badly made. It’s crooked, skewwhiff, completely cockeyed. It’s quite the rage.