She woke up ecstatic at the thought of the joyful preparations ahead. She really loved the holidays.

Then she caught sight of a printout her husband had left on the table. The Christmas present ticked her off mightily.

"You got what for my mother?”

"It's not what it looks like," he said.

“Good, ’cause it looks like a ticket to Timbuktu!”

“That’s where I’d like to send her,” he muttered. It was the wrong thing to say.

*

“The defendant is charged with manslaughter in the second degree. How do you plead?”

"Not guilty, Your Honor."

She really hated the holidays…

* * *
© 2015 by M.P. Witwer • All rights reserved