Bob told me had accidentally mowed over his wife’s violent flowers.
I asked him if the flowers beat each other up, or hung out in the garden tormenting the radishes.
“No, no!” he replied. “Purple flowers, but one of those shades that only wives seem to know.”
Ah, “Violet flowers!” I said.
About that time Bob’s wife conked him up side his head with her fry pan. Looking at me, she quietly said, “Violent flowers. He had it right the first time.”
Bob really needs to quit playing NASCAR driver when he’s riding his mower.
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(Tomorow’s jigsaw puzzle: Feathers)