“How green is your thumb?” he asks.
“Grandpa!” I laugh. “Don’t be silly!”
“It’s just a saying,” he explains. “Having a green thumb means you know how to keep plants happy.”
“Then I want my thumb to be as green as a pickle!” I shout as we walk to the garden.
Grandpa laughs and walks to the shed, where he fetches a bucket of water.
“This is my favorite bucket,” he says as he fills it with water. The bucket is rusty, dented, and cracked.
“Why don’t you buy a new bucket?” I ask him.
Grandpa and I have a rest on the garden bench.
“I spy with my little eye, something that is purple,” Grandpa says. I guess it right away.
“The flowers!” I yell.
“Now I spy with my little eye, something that is shiny,” I say.
Grandpa looks around the garden.
He guesses the bucket and the garden shovel, but I shake my head, “No.”
“It’s your prosthetic leg!” I announce.
“You win!” he laughs.