Dirt

Yesterday, after she had placed the chicken parmesan in the oven to warm, and he had parked the Suzuki and freshened up after a day spent four-wheeling with Offspring the Third, Herself and Beloved Husband found that they had a half hour to spare before the arrival of long-term Acquaintance and Spouse for dinner.  Herself and Beloved Husband enjoyed the time by planting a few more annuals in the pots in the front yard. It was nice to be outside with the flowering ocotillo and the fragrant yellow bush and the newly leafy trees.  Spring is quite literally in full bloom.

They were finishing just as Acquaintance and Spouse rolled up and parked in front of the house.  Herself planted the last flower, and, mindful of Beloved Husband's request to save any leftover earth from the pots to be distributed into the pots that were slightly less full, inquired of him:

"I have a little bit of dirt left over, did you want me to save it?"

Long-term acquaintance promptly corrected her:

"SOIL."

Herself let the word hang in the air -- a tiny supercilious reprimanding cloud.

What reply was warranted? She knew, of course, that only one response would do:

Absolutely none at all.

She asked Beloved Husband again, gesturing to the small bin:

"Did you want me to save this?"

He responded in the negative, and so Herself disposed of it. She collected the trash and removed her gardening gloves, and into the house they all went. And the evening went on.

Behold, Herself's trifling victory.

I shall use the words I choose.