It was the greatest passing of noxious gas that Christmas cookie baking has likely ever known, when suddenly there was a knock on the door. Rapid flapping of arms made no difference. I opened the door despite the dealer's warning and in walked seven caroling neighbors, who stood in its wake and sang three beautiful songs.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.
1 comment:
That there is Pulitzer material.
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