A Can of Worms
You know the feeling: you're at your desk, planet-sized brain poring over some code through your beady browns. Then out of the blue somebody arrives with a can of worms, and there can be no mistake: it's got your name written on it. It's yours.
This happened to me at work today. It wasn't your regular baked-bean tin either. No, sir! It was a large green plastic container. With a carrying handle. Subsidised by the council, even. And not to forget: my name on the shipping label.
Normally I'd kicked the bucket at this point, but today it was a pleasant surprise. I did not expect my new wormery until tomorrow.
It's a wonderful thing. I think. I'll feed it leftover food, cardboard, egg-shells, dust-rabbits, and the contents of my Dyson; in return, the little crawlies inside will produce excellent compost for my plants.