Christmas goose

Christmas and fat geese. Fat. Goose. What a goose I was to think that Christmas would fix everything. Time of cheer. Family. Peace. Home. I was out of it. On the other side of the world in the middle of an argument with the love of my life. Skype kept cutting off. Email. He doesn’t answer emails, just reads them. I could hardly post Luv U on my blog and sms was out of the question for the love of my life had three thumbs. There was more of me, too.

Weeks passed and I pined. I had to see him. Bring him a gift. Both meant money I didn’t have. Passion makes possible, I chanted. I ate only salads, drank only water, walked and jogged everywhere I went. Sometimes I was even faster than the bus, but only when it was going the other way. In the Op Shop I bought five metres of red ribbon and asked the butcher for ten sheets of wrapping paper, promising to pick the turkey up later. My old car was getting lonely, I know, as I wasn’t driving it any more. Bye, Morris, I said. I have to sell you.

I bought a cheap ticket via Beijing and Virgin and landed shivering in the snow. With my paper and ribbon under my arm, I hitched a ride to town. Then I wrapped myself up in the paper and rolled about in the metres of ribbon. I tied a bow around my middle and another around my forehead. People were hurrying home. The smell of mulled wine was in the air. Candles glowed from behind windows. I rang his bell. The door opened. “Merry Christmas,” I said.

He pulled me inside, kissing me around the bows. “I knew it was you,” he said.