The Gnome Who Sang of Existential Dread (and Petunias)

Mildred was pruning her petunias when a gravelly baritone voice rumbled from her prize-winning garden gnome, Bartholomew. "Mildred," it announced, "your secateurs are perilously close to that fuchsia. Have you no respect for the delicate balance of this ecosystem, you horticultural barbarian?" Mildred, who had seen stranger things (like her neighbour’s cat attempting to unionize the local squirrel population), merely adjusted her spectacles. "Bartholomew," she replied, "don't be melodramatic. And besides, I distinctly remember you telling me last week that fuchsias were a bourgeois affectation." Bartholomew sighed, a sound Mildred was sure she heard, despite him being made of painted concrete. "One can evolve, Mildred. My existential journey has been profound since that particularly potent rain shower last Tuesday. I've re-evaluated my stance on ornamental flora and, frankly, my past career choices. Did you know I once performed 'Nessun Dorma' for a congregation of particularly discerning garden slugs?" Mildred blinked. "No, Bartholomew. I didn't. Did they give you a standing ovation?" "Of course not, Mildred. They're slugs. But they did slime with approval." He then cleared his throat, a surprising crunching sound, and began to hum, a deep, resonant tone that vibrated through the potting shed, causing a trowel to gently slide off a shelf. "And for the record," he added, interrupting his own melody, "you *are* overwatering the impatiens."