The Big Surprise

I was looking forward to the big surprise. My daughter had called to say it was a prize. We ran to the porch before the big demise. Because we have a puppy who chews everything that hits his eyes. What is it? What is it? My husband asked with glee. I said wait just a second. There is a bunch of tape as you can see. It was not the gift we had been waiting for from our daughter Vee. It was a mop head, which had been sent as a replacement for free. We opened every Amazon box with relish that week. But alas, the big reveal never appeared with even a peek. It was a fruitcake, our daughter said with a squeak. We looked at Buddy, our dog, whose language is Greek. You do not suppose he devoured it, I asked my husband Fred. He would not eat a fruitcake, no one likes them, Fred said. And he could not open the tin, right? I asked. Buddy’s face was red. We found the tin later, in pieces, laid up in back of the shed. There was not a bit of fruitcake left for the mice or the raccoons. So to all those who use fruitcake as a label for crazies and loons. I have just one thing to say. Here are your large silver spoons. I shall order you some fruitcakes, you silly Christmas loving goons.