Recently I wrote about meeting PotHead at the garden park and how I felt we had formed a connection that had promise.
This weekend I was back at the park and guess what I discovered!?
Mrs. Pothead ...
Poor dear. There she is toiling away in the garden totally oblivious to hubby's flirty cheaty ways.
Now I hate to paint all male garden sculptures with the same brush. Far be it for me to generalize and encourage stereotypes.
Some PotHeads are just dogs.