Write for three minutes about this photograph.
Email what you wrote to woof at bright dot net by this Sunday (put “Norman is on Santa’s Good List” in the subject line). I’ll post as many of my favorite entries as I want next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old). If you’re a published writer, include a biography to be posted with your entry.
I guess everybody was too busy last week making snickerdoodles for Santa, because I only got one entry from when I asked you to write for three minutes about…
…last Christmas Eve. A ruckus woke you up. You went to check it out and found Santa Claus sampling the snickerdoodles you left out for him. He wasn’t alone. You couldn’t believe who was reaching for the glass of milk…
You couldn’t believe who was reaching for the glass of milk…
It was the Easter Bunny. It was probably inevitable that he’d show up eventually, ticked off that he never gets milk and cookies.
“I’m ticked off,” he says. “Nobody ever leaves me milk and cookies. And carrots? For reindeer? I’m a RABBIT for crying out loud! Did it never occur to anybody I could use a little carrot pick-me-up while delivering all those baskets?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. And I am, because it’s true. I never thought to leave so much as a carrot for the Easter Bunny.
There’s a tapping on the window pane. Uh-oh. It’s Cupid. He looks mad. And he’s got all those arrows.