Last Minute Insanity

Because the human female has a brain like a leaky flea-size sieve, she is always forgetting things.  Sometimes I bring something up and say, “But you must remember! I told you that yesterday,” when I actually never did, just to make her think the problem’s worse than it really is.

But because she forgot to put certain things on her shopping list, and because the human male is under the weather and it would be good to have soup on hand, she is venturing out to the market, mere minutes before Yule, in what has to be the most ill-advised undertaking since Thor, copying his girlfriend Jane,  tried the Midgardian trick of “conditioning” his hair with mayonnaise, forgetting that Volstagg is quite fond of the glop.  Sif, Fandral, and I had bets going as to whether Thor could outrun Volstagg, whether Volstagg would actually lick Thor’s head if he caught him, and whether Thor would remember that you’re meant to wash the goop out…  But I digress.

Here we go. Sigyn, are you buckled up securely?  Aieeee!  The parking lot is a lot like the Midgardian fun-park amusement called “bumper cars.”  We were lucky to make into the market with our hides intact!

Folks are shoving their carts madly about, eyes glazed, muttering under their breath.  The shelves have been picked clean of the staples, and increasingly desperate shoppers are now snatching at whatever is left.

Because this is Texas, this is actually a holiday item.


Ehehehe!  No white Christmas for the humans!  Nope, cloudy, warm, and humid,  with a chance of mosquitoes.

But it’s good to know that three-legged salsa bowls are obtainable in the appropriate, festive colors.


What do you have there, my sweet?


Hmmm.  It is displayed with holiday baking supplies and candy, but there are no ingredients listed.  Is it even edible?  Is it toxic?  Is it gluten free?  No one knows!  Looks to me like colored pencil shavings.  Or perhaps someone has simply vacuumed up the crumbs from under the human female’s sofa.  I bet that’s it.

Well, we now have our purchases and can go home to wrap, bake, decorate, and listen to the human male cough. Yippee.

In closing, I’d like to point out that the mortals are all wrong about those flying reindeer.  The truth is closer to this.

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