Just like Christmas
Muriel had always thought modern Christmas as unfestive. “Who wants to buy Christmas cards in August?” she’d say to anyone who would listen, which since Ernie had left, was the group of charity workers at the local Red Cross.
She shook her head and put the packs back in the large cardboard box they’d arrived in.
“Distinctly detrimental to the whole meaning of Christmas,” a voice piped up from the corner, alias Sylvia the newest member of the team.
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Muriel said, closing the lid.
Wendy opened her mouth but after two years as Muriel’s assistant knew better than to contradict.
Muriel put the box of cards under a rail of donated clothes and moved the hangers across so it obscured the box. “Out of sight…” she started to say when one of their regular customers appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Tom. Any requests today?”
“Balls,” he replied with a cheeky smile, winking at Wendy who blushed and looked down to her feet.
“Tom?” Muriel said, trying to make out that she’d not heard him properly.
“Balls!” he repeated this time louder as Sylvia giggled. “The wife’s making a blanket so is after some wool. Red if you’ve got it… wants it nice and bright… just like Christmas.”
Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.
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