(no subject)
Angela hated gardening. She hated dirt and bugs and getting hot and sweaty and everything about it. Except for the floppy hat she wore to protect herself from the sun; she kind of liked her floppy hat. Angela hated gardening, and farming was even worse.
She didn't even like beets.
But Dwight had loved his beets, and so she was trying to keep them alive. She was out at Schrute Farm, Tabula Rasa branch with a bucket of water for the little plants starting to poke out of the ground, hoping that they'd grow without her getting too much of a sunburn. That her skin was already pretty red she blamed on Jim Halpert.
So what if his wife had left him with a small child to raise? (And wasn't that just like Pam, run off back to Scranton to break the heart of another decent man. Probably Roy again, Angela guessed.) Kids could take care of themselves; the beets had no one.
No one ever thought of the beets.
She didn't even like beets.
But Dwight had loved his beets, and so she was trying to keep them alive. She was out at Schrute Farm, Tabula Rasa branch with a bucket of water for the little plants starting to poke out of the ground, hoping that they'd grow without her getting too much of a sunburn. That her skin was already pretty red she blamed on Jim Halpert.
So what if his wife had left him with a small child to raise? (And wasn't that just like Pam, run off back to Scranton to break the heart of another decent man. Probably Roy again, Angela guessed.) Kids could take care of themselves; the beets had no one.
No one ever thought of the beets.