 "Well, that's good," Doc said. "Maybe those little nippers will
enjoy having a Santa to talk to.""But Doc," Herb said, "she hired
Windy Wilson!"
The Mule Barn truck stop right then and there lost at least 15
bucks' worth of breakfast, because we paid for our initial
infestation of coffee and left, en masse, for the bookstore.
Windy had several children lined up waiting to tell him what they
wanted for Christmas. He was in his element -- fake whiskers, red
suit and all.
Sarah came over and smiled. "You won't believe this, fellas, but
Alphonse told me he'd do it for free."
"Did you just meet him?" Doc asked. She nodded.
We had to walk up closer to Santa to hear what pearls of yuletide
wisdom were being dropped.
"Hello there, young lady," he said. "Do you wish to convey an
appurtenance of Christmastime wishes to all of us at this
conflagration?"
"Huh?"
"Tell Santa what you want for Christmas," said her mother.
"Oh ... I want a doggie!"
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column] |
"I see! You desire to bask in the unabrashed afflictions of our
four-legged companions."
"No ... I want a doggie."
"Yes, of course you do." Windy glanced toward the girl's mother,
who nodded. "Now you realize, of course, that having a dog means
providing it with ampulatory nourishment and care. And there may be
some ... excretatory surprises to be remedliated."
The girl looked up at her mother.
"You'll have to feed it and clean up after it, Honey," Mom said.
"I will, Santa!"
"Good!" said Santa's helper. "And a felicitous celebration of the
sanctified parturitional occurrence to you, my dear."
She looked up into the white beard and the twinkling eyes. "Merry
Christmas!"
Sarah should charge admission.
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
Brought to you by "Home Country," the best
of the first six years. Read a sample at
www.slimrandles.com.
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