Thursday 19 December 2013

How do I serve mince pies like a lady?

"Christmas!" I yell into my eggnog and drain the whole glass in one gulp.
"What is that god awful stench?"
I squint to my left and see a massive light-blue blob with fuzzy edges. "I must say, Aunt Hilda, you've grown atrociously since I last saw you," I remark as I fumble for the eggnog bottle as if I was experiencing an alarming eggnog craving.
"That's quite enough, I think."
"Dragon?"
My glass is snatched from my grasp and I make up for this by taking a swig from the bottle, perhaps a little smugly at my genius, but mostly awkwardly and with a lot of spillage.
"How long have you been here?" I demand.
"I arrived when you started talking to the carrots," he says and takes the bottle as well.
I nod, "They were insulting me!"
Dragon makes that soothing noise you hear in mental institutions.
"They were telling me I'm the wrong colour!"
"Yes, well, you very well might be."
"Now listen here," I start grandly, feeling fruitlessly around the table, "Never, in all the history, have I been so... so... insisted!"
"Yes, that's fascinating," I vaguely make out him taking a sip of my glass, "By the way, I'm going away for Christmas and I've used all your tinsel."
Then he walks off, humming and swinging his tail, taking my eggnog and my views on colour coordination with him. Can something only be true if more than one person believes it so? I'd like to believe that one person can make something real by really getting out there and having the faith, but maybe that is foolish. Maybe the carrots are right and everything should be a hideous shade of orange.
"What do you mean you've taken all my tinsel?" I yell, suddenly aware of everything all at once so my head starts to pound, "I don't own any tinsel!" And I realise that, somehow without me noticing, dragon has gone and used all my grandmothers fuzzy woollen scarves to decorate the house.

^_^v

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