“As many as 10 percent of unsolved cold cases probably involve garden gnomes,” Sambuchino told AOL News. “It’s a serious problem.”
I’m going to have to finally own up to a dirty little secret I’ve been hiding for awhile now. It’s not anything I’m ashamed of, but I know it’s not a very manly thing. I’d hate for anyone to be questioning my masculinity, but here goes….
I’m addicted to garden gnomes.
Yep, that’s it. The cat’s out of the bag. I realize that my charter membership in the He-Man Woman Hater’s Club may now be in some jeopardy, but I’m tired of living a lie. I love garden gnomes, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Of course, living in a one-bedroom apartment has afforded me scant opportunity to indulge my love of the little rogues. I’ve been living vicariously through the Gnome Liberation Front, dreaming of the day when I could once again indulge my desire to give a few gnomes a loving home. Well, that day is here, so yesterday I went down to my local Fred Meyer and liberated purchased a few garden gnomes. The first squad of five gnomes (there will be more, though I can picture Erin rolling her eyes at the thought of that) arrived yesterday afternoon and have now taken up their assigned posts, four along the perimeter garden in the back yard, and one in a forward observer’s position on the deck. Hopefully, these brave souls will be able to hold out until reinforcements arrive…which probably won’t be until Erin stops laughing at me.
In the meantime, perhaps it might be a good idea for me to seek out a support group (Gnomes Anonymous?). I mean, some folks are addicted to drugs, some to sex, others to the Green Bay Packers. You’d think that there would be a support group to help people with out-of-control gnomes problems. Then again, I can quit any time I choose. I just choose not to.
