The Curious Case of the Unwanted Lawn Gnome
It all started with a single gnome. One chilly November morning, I stepped out to get the mail and noticed a small, cheerful gnome standing right in the middle of my lawn, holding a tiny “Welcome” sign. I chuckled, assuming it was a prank from one of my friends or neighbors. After all, who doesn’t love a cute garden gnome?
But as days went by, the gnome situation grew stranger. Every morning, a new gnome would appear somewhere on my lawn—one in a miniature police uniform, another dressed like a chef, and even a gnome holding a fishing pole as if he were waiting for a pond to appear on my lawn. By the end of the week, I had an entire gnome family dotting my yard, each one staring out at the street with wide, painted eyes.
At first, it was funny. But after a while, I started getting annoyed. I didn’t particularly like garden decorations, let alone a growing collection of gnomes. So, I went door-to-door, asking if anyone knew who was behind it. Most neighbors just laughed, thinking it was some kind of harmless joke.
Then, I finally got a lead. My neighbor Linda, a woman with an overly enthusiastic love for “lawn decor,” admitted to being behind the gnome invasion. She grinned as she told me, “Your yard just looked so empty! I thought a few friendly gnomes would add some personality.”
I tried to stay polite. “Linda, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not really a fan of lawn gnomes. Would you mind taking them back?”
Her smile faded a bit. “Oh, but they look so happy on your lawn! Besides, everyone on the street loves them. They add charm!”
I held my ground, politely insisting she remove them, and she finally agreed—albeit reluctantly. But the next morning, the gnomes were still there. In fact, they’d multiplied. Now, I had a gnome sitting on a toadstool, a “gnome couple” on a miniature bench, and even a tiny gnome family with a baby stroller.
When I confronted Linda again, she shrugged and said, “I think they’re growing on you. Give it some time, you’ll see!”
By the time the weekend rolled around, my yard looked like a gnome convention. Every neighbor who passed by stopped to comment on the “cute little family” and told me how they “brightened up the street.” Even my friends started snapping pictures, much to my irritation.
I realized I was fighting a losing battle. Linda’s gnomes had somehow become the neighborhood’s unofficial mascots, and no one else seemed bothered. I considered giving in to the madness and letting the gnomes stay, but a small, petty part of me refused to surrender my lawn to Linda’s vision of “charm.”
So, one night, I borrowed a friend’s truck, loaded up every last gnome, and drove them over to Linda’s yard, arranging them in a perfect little circle around her own front door. The next morning, Linda stepped out and let out a gasp loud enough for the whole street to hear.
After that, the gnomes mysteriously stopped appearing on my lawn.
