Write about: the bill.
Kat had a pretty bad allergic reaction while she was harvesting cherry tomatoes on Tuesday and we were fairly certain it was due to one of the weeds that has taken up residence in that area of the garden. So I spent some time with those weeds this morning and after dinner. Had a nice long chat. Discussed career possibilities.
But mostly? I yanked them out of the ground.
Hoping that did the trick, as there are more cherry tomatoes ready to be picked tomorrow for the market. Aiming to bring some berries, corn, garlic, apples, peaches, and plums along with them. They're calling for a beautiful couple of days, weather-wise, so here's hoping the forecasters know what they're talking about this time.
"What the hell is this?"
"It's the bill? You know, traditionally delivered at the conclusion of a restaurant meal?"
"Ah yes, I've heard of that. Never actually seen one before."
"I'm not sure how that could be possible."
"And this here, up at the top?"
"That's a smiley face. A little personal touch from our waiter, I suppose."
"Well. At least my suspicions that we were being served by a child have been confirmed. Likely means the food was actually sourced from the local pound as well."
"I... I don't think that would be..."
"Anyway, thank you for showing me it. Pay up and we'll be on our way - I've got more meetings this afternoon than I care to think about. Good thing I don't have to, huh? That's your job!"
"But you don't pay me enough to be able to afford this, Henri..."