We have worms! I look forward to proclaiming this loudly at the next work function and revelling in the awkward silence that ensues. The kind of work function where you all stand around politely listening to a dull colleague from another department who is postulating about the-most-boring-thing-in-the-whole-world. And avoiding the nacho chips that Grubby has touched because you saw him earlier up to his elbow searching for treasure in his nasal cavity.
Little T, who is not quite 2, was understandably fascinated by the proceedings as the new worm farm was constructed. I mean, what could be better than a box of wriggling, squishy worms swimming around in something-very-poo-like IN YOUR VERY OWN LAUNDRY?
Big T was not so impressed. Syllables such as ‘eeeewwwww’ and questions not limited to ‘you’re sure they can’t get out of there?’ were uttered. I envisioned a rogue worm that would attack in the dead of night.
It would have an advantage because worms are blind anyway, and it would find its way around easily, wielding its little toothpick sword.