Sunday, 16 April 2017

Me vs The Gnomian Wars

Who rides a frog? Santa. 
Santa rides a frog now.
Because I love my mom, and because I know she hates garden gnomes immensely, back in January I decided that the perfect birthday gift for her would be a tacky, beady eyed, garden nightmare. With a few clicks and some savvy internet-ing, I had a lovely, portly little gnome sent to her doorstep, along with a book entitled something along the lines of When Gnomes Attack. Literally the perfect gift.

Unfortunately, the hateful little gnome was only about 3 inches tall, and not nearly as offensive as I had originally hoped, but she was deeply unimpressed, so I feel like I achieved my goal.

Like any good daughter, on my next visit I made sure my thoughtful gift was prominently displayed. When it mysteriously vanished I even took the time to find it and carefully replace it in the centre of the living room.  I took great joy in the fact that she had to keep it, as it was a gift from her loving daughter. Perfection.

Until I got home.

Don't be fooled, these guys 
hear, see, and speak evil

I opened my suitcase and there packed with our belongings was the shitty little gnome. My despicable mother had snuck it into my daughter's suitcase before we left, and I'm pretty sure my 3 year old helped. He thinks it's a sculpture of Santa riding a frog. This was a declaration of war.

On my return trip, the gnome was replaced in it's rightful spot, but again it found it's way back to me with terrifying speed. The little frog riding shit became a fixture on my nightstand, mocking me, daring me to make the next move. And so I did.

It was time for an infestation.

This guy has a light!
So leading up to our next visit, I spent an inordinate amount of time amassing an army of garden ready killers. The gnomian arms race was on. No gnome was too ugly, no pose too unflattering, and the bigger the better. The pièce de resistance: a trifecta of bobble headed gnomes acting out the hear no evil/see no evil/speak no evil scenario; my mother wouldn't know what hit her.

And she didn't. We have now made it all the way home, and she's only just realizing the plague that has taken her household. She hasn't yet discovered the depths to which she's caused me to sink. 

Best of luck finding this guy...

Mom, as you're reading this, know that while the kids have had their Easter egg hunt, your very own hunt is just beginning. These little guys have taken up residence throughout your house; may the odds be ever in your favour.

And by that I mean there are a ludicrous number of gnomes in your house. Let the games begin!

***I think it's also important to note that none of the pictures shown here provide any clues as to the vastness of my army. Just know their numbers are significant, and you will never know if they've all been found.

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