The Gift

“I seriously don’t understand what you’re still doing with Mark,” Gina said, loud enough to penetrate the bathroom door. “All you do is complain about him.”

“Yeah, I know.  But he does have his good moments,” answered Lori.

“Have you ever stopped to count his good moment, bad moment ratio?  It can’t be good.  I mean he’s a creep.  Didn’t he sleep with Stacy a few months ago?”

“Well, yeah, but we were on a break.  So it doesn’t really count.”

“Lori, you were on a break for like five minutes, it counts.”

“But, it was a really big fight. I shouldn’t have pushed him the way I did.”

“Oh yeah, you shouldn’t have made a big deal about him standing you up to hang with his buddies,” Gina said rolling her eyes. “Besides he didn’t even get you a gift for your birthday.”

Lori opened the bathroom door, color absent from her face, white stick in hand.  “Oh, he gave me a gift alright.”

Footprints in the Snow

“It’s ok, darling,” Julie said, hugging her daughter tightly, “I’m sure Santa just got lost.  You’ve been a very good girl.”

As she rocked her little girl, Julie looked around the one room shack they had taken refuge in during the storm.  It had gotten too cold to sleep in the car and she didn’t have the gas to continue to run the heater.  The night before, Christmas Eve, the shelters had all been packed, they were lucky to stumble across this little hunting shack, which had a wood burning stove.  All their money had gone towards food; there was nothing left for even a small gift. 

A light tap at the door brought Julie back to reality.  Her daughter jumped, “Are they going to kick us out?”

“Hush now,” said Julie as she opened the door.  There at her feet was a colorful present with a note saying: “Sorry I was late.  Love, Santa.”

Julie ran out looking for the secret Santa, finding only footprints in the snow.

Crocodile Tears

“Close your yap or I squirt metal,” he said, as he jammed the bean-shooter in my button.

I looked at my doll, crocodile tears streaming down her pale face.  We were behind the eight-ball, alright.

“Don’t be a bunny. We got the ice, got a can-opener, can make a safe sing like a canary.  Here dip the bill,” I said handing him some hooch, “you’ve gotta calm down or it’s back to the cooler.”

The stooge took a swig, a long one at that; I could only hope that he’d go over the edge with the rams.

“This plan’s all wet,” the goon shouted, pointing the heat on me.  I grabbed air.

“Knock off me and lose the goods, friend.  Give us the cabbage and get your diamonds, easy as apple pie.”

The goofy egg sprung like a tiger.  A loud bang penetrated my ears. 

There stood my dizzy dame, gat smoking.

“Let’s blow this joint, before the meat wagon gets here.  How ‘bout a cup of joe?” she said casually as she stepped over the stiff.

 Who knew I had such a keen babe?