Shed dreaming...

Ah I've actually finally managed to get to see what my lovely Chris has been working so hard on all week at the allotment. My beautiful shed base...I know I really should get out more...but to me it really is a thing of beauty. I am pathetically grateful to him for doing it, I hadn't even had a chance to make a small indent for it, I nearly bit his hand off when he offered to make it for me. It means I will finally be able to order the shed in time for the holiday I've got coming up from work.

 My (very un wicked)  stepmother is very kindly buying it for me as a present. It must be up there with one of the best presents ever, though I was at college with a girl whose parents bought her a chainsaw for her birthday followed by a donkey for Christmas. I understood the chainsaw, she was a sculpture student...the donkey...well I just hope it never came anywhere near the chainsaw.

 My (very un wicked) step mum wouldn't take no for an answer, she knew I could never buy one for myself and the perfect shed (even the un perfect one) had just kept alluding me on Ebay. She has no idea (unless she ever reads this) how happy that shed will make me, I have big plans for it, I have bunting and a whole interior planned... I have a very confused Chris who is a very practical sort of man. It will fulfill all its practical shed duties of course, it will mean that the trips to the allotment will not have to be planned like military maneuvers any more and my constant confusion as to why my hoe seems to defy any attempt to make it fit into the car. But I want it to have lace curtains too and to be painted lavender, should I apologise for wanting a feminine shed?

It will mean I can walk to the allotment and everything will already be there, it will mean I can finally have a potting bench that isn't my kitchen table (you didn't just read that, Chris!) It will mean I will have somewhere to hide from the rain. It will mean that I have my very own shed...oh thank you my (very un wicked) stepmother.

This weekend we went to see a play that my...well she would be my stepdaughter if we ever get round to the practicalities...was in, playing a wicked stepmother (what else?). She was of course the most beautiful, best wicked stepmother ever but it made me think. Why do stepmothers in fiction get such a bad time, why are they such an easy target to make wicked? I have a stepmother, my eldest boys have a stepmother, I am (without the paperwork) a stepmother, we are all human, not perfect but as far as I'm concerned we all do a damn good job without being in the slightest bit 'wicked'. So the Brothers Grimm and their ilk can just 'step off' the wicked stepmothers bandwagon and get themselves a better evil figure to pick on...personally I would never have trusted the Fairy Godmother.
So in my shed I shall plot...and eat gingerbread whilst cackling to myself...well what else would I do?:)...The End.



It should be something like this one!