Everybody Reads This

As the holidays become a flickering red and green blink in the distance, all that my abode has to show for it is a half-full bowl of shelled nuts in various states of undress and a single, tidy pile of sunday comics which was used as wrapping by me on a present for me.

It was a wooden rocking horse.

The Concierge did real-mail me a Christmas card though, and it was pleasant. It featured a cat with reindeer antlers! I laughed long and loud at this deliciously zany juxtaposition, and soon began trying to track down Zim-Zim to try and afix her with something equally comical. Unfortunately, she was nestled deep behind the basement furnace, as is her style, and could not be coaxed out.

To obtain bait of sorts, I bundled to the hilt and went to the market looking for a well-sized trout. Upon arriving however, I recollected that my Discover card had recently been ransacked by an uncharacteristically huge purchase; an antique rocking horse from Victorian times that was owned by Emily Dickenson as a lass.

Failure plunges her ice-saber deep into my innards yet again.