“Good thing we have the worm bin,” I said to the Spouse the other day.
He gave me a blank, flat eyed stare. “Why?” he asked in a tone that said he didn’t really want to talk about the worm bin, could think of no good thing related to the worm bin.
“Because the compost heap is frozen,” I told him, feeling cheerful and content with my little WideEyedEcosystem.
The Spouse turned in his chair and peered out the kitchen window to the back garden. I could see him noting the foot of snow draped over the garden. I could see him not making the connection. He, as you may recall (Worm Bin Chronicles: Inception), hates the worm bin. Spine-tingling, hair-raising hates the notion of hundreds or thousands of juicy, wriggling worms snacking, always munching in a bin in our house.
“If we didn’t have the worm bin, where would we put the veggie trash?” I asked him.
He sipped his beer and thought. “The trash?” he asked.
I glared at him and slapped my Fedco Seeds catalog onto the counter. I flipped to page 128 and spun the catalog around, pointing about halfway down the page to the Worm Castings offering (8 quarts for $15.00). “Those worms are making money in there,” I told him. “At least they have a job,” I said, referring to our lay-about small black dog of limited wits and multiple degrees (P.K, F.C.)
The Spouse leaned forward in his chair a bit to peer at the fine print of the catalog. “Uh huh,” he said and leaned back unconvinced, unconvincable I fear.
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