| Home for the Holiday |
[26 Dec 2007|07:40pm] |
'Twas the night of Christmas, and in the double-wide
A creature stirred at the stove, careful not to burn his hide.
His companion seated on a newly-bought chair,
While smells of vegetarian lasagna danced 'round her hair;
Rhiannon in her best, and Whistler in his hat,
Had just settled down for an untraditional meal (lean, not fat),
When from the fire detector, there arose such a clatter,
He sprang into action, to deal with the matter.
"Jesus!" Whistler grabbed the potholders and dove towards the gourmet offense. He threw open the oven door and retrieved the slightly burnt garlic bread. Unceremoniously the metal pan clanged onto the stove top, and he spun ninety-degrees using his right foot to close the metal beast while frantically waving the holders in the air to disperse the smoke and silence the alarm.
"Give me those." Rhiannon scraped a chair under the smoke detector and climbed on it. Instead of fanning the pot holders, she ripped the cover off and pulled the battery out. The eruption of noise stopped. "What're you, expecting a visit from the fire marshall?" The battery thudded on the floor and rolled under the fridge, alongside untold numbers of dust bunnies and formerly frozen peas.
The air reeked. She got down and went to the front door, then made an effort to push some air out of the trailer by opening and closing it. "Well... That's what you get for watching Wheel. You're making me feel 80."
"It was that or 'Pimp My Grandmother'," the Agent winked. Christmas fare on television was sparse at best and the idea of a fake yule log with muzak-muzzled holiday tunes ran shivers up his spine. Definitely a demon-spawned idea. Give people a sneak-peek of what awaits them in the afterlife.
The hatted man watched as the battery disappeared, made a mental note to retrieve it. Like he'd done when the first two spatulas were accidentally kicked under the stove, or the spilled change from the pizza he'd ordered last week. In the future, archeologists would puzzle over the time capsule contents in Whistler's kitchen.
If Gerald let them in.
He dug out the garlic bread from the pan and threw the edible pieces into a wicker basket laced with paper towels, and set it on the table. Most of his compensated check from Star went to refurbishing/renovating his trailer, with the main treat being an actual three-piece dining set. Whistler gave the contents a once-over: vegetarian lasagna (check), garlic bread (check), caesar salad (from a bag, check).
"Dinner is served. Can you make it back to the table," he asked with a smile, "or do I need a wheelchair for your geriatric ass?"
( Only Under the Car )
( Holiday Gifts )
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