Here is Your Soil

The other night, I was fast asleep, like a good kid.  I woke up to a really strange sound.  Robyn was pounding the bed with her hand.  Perhaps pounding is too strong of a word.  She was patting the bed, but she was doing it hard enough that the sound woke me up.

Normally, when anything strange is happening, I do my best to engage her, in hopes of getting a good story out of it.  This time, I guess I was just too tired.  All I wanted to do was go back to sleep.  So I just waited a few minutes to see if it would stop.  It didn't.  The tapping continued.  There was no sign of stopping or even slowing.

Finally, I just asked her, "What are you doing?"

"Here is your soil."

What kind of answer is that?  I don't have any soil.  And it doesn't explain the tapping.  Those were my thoughts, all I actually said was "My soil?"

At this point, Robyn mumbled something.  I'm not sure exactly what she said, but the tone of her voice told me that I definitely crossed a line and interrupted some important soil patting.  She rolled over in disgust, and resumed her sleep.

In the morning she explained that earlier this week she had filled cups of soil for her school kids to do some planting.  I guess it was such a great experience she needed to relive it.

"Here is your soil!"

For the record, the marijuana plants have nothing to do with the story.  But this picture amused me when I  googled "soil cup".
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