Of Sam's Sense Of Style
It was a warm, sunny day in the Shire. Frodo woke up late, got dressed, and ate an English muffin for breakfast. The whole time, he could here Sam whistling cheerfully as he worked in the garden. Frodo wasn't annoyed by the constant whistling, which is strange, because any sane person would be. Around noon, Frodo went out side to invite Sam in for lunch. You can't have a hobbit working in your garden all day and not invite them in for food. That would be rude.
Frodo found Sam on the west side of Bag End watering some flowers.
"Hullo, Sam," Frodo greeted him.
Sam turned to face him. "Oh, hullo, Mr. Frodo. Your hydrangeas are doing lovely this year."
"Yes, you've been doing a great job with them. Would you like to come in an- what are you wearing around your waist?"
Sam looked down. "Oh, this?" he asked, indicating a small purple bag strapped onto him, "It's my fanny pack."
"You're fanny pack?" said Frodo in disbelief, 'What in the Shire do you need one of those hideous things for?"
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I don't think it's hideous at all. Besides, it's very useful to keep things in. See, I've got some seeds, my chap stick, a recipe for potato soup, a-"
Frodo cut him off. "You don't even need to carry any of that around! Come on in and have some lunch, and I'll help you find some other place to put it all."
Sam sighed. "Oh, alright, Mr. Frodo. But I'm telling you, in two years, everyone in Middle Earth will be wearing these things. It's fashionable."
The two hobbits headed back inside. "I hate to tell you this, Sam, but your fashion sense is really, really bad."