Bartholomew Buttonsby, a man whose trousers were always slightly too short, sighed. His prize-winning petunias looked like they’d lost a fight with a badger. He slumped onto his garden gnome, which promptly toppled over. Underneath, nestled amongst the weeds, was a tiny, green…thing.
“Well, hello there,” Bartholomew said cautiously. The thing blinked. It had pointy ears and smelled faintly of fertilizer and mischief.
“You disturbed my nap!” squeaked the thing. “I am Glorbus, Goblin Gardener! And because you woke me, I am obliged to grant you one wish.”
Bartholomew’s jaw dropped. “A goblin gardener? Grants wishes?!”
Glorbus puffed out his chest. “The best! Now, spit it out. Wealth? Power? Immortality?”
Bartholomew considered his ravaged petunias. “Could you…make my petunias bloom again?”
Glorbus looked utterly disgusted. “Petunias?! You waste a wish on FLOWERS? I could give you a solid gold watering can! Or a robot that weeds for you!”
“No, no,” Bartholomew insisted. “The petunias are important. They win me the ‘Best Blooms’ award every year!”
Glorbus grumbled, snapped his tiny fingers, and a sickly yellow glow enveloped the petunias. Instantly, they sprouted – enormous, vibrant, and…singing.
“Singing petunias?” Bartholomew stammered, as the flowers launched into a surprisingly enthusiastic rendition of “I’m a Little Teapot.”
Glorbus shrugged. “Technicality! They bloomed, didn’t they? I didn’t specify HOW. Bye!” And with that, he vanished, leaving Bartholomew surrounded by a chorus of floral tea-making advice. He looked at his singing petunias, then back at the fallen gnome. Maybe next year, he’d wish for earplugs. He knew he was going to lose the Best Blooms award. Instead, he won “Most Annoying Garden,” because apparently, Mrs. Higgins next door couldn’t stand the whistling sounds they made when they ran out of tea.
