My Cardboard Balcony

Mrs. Nick by Belinda Roddie Mrs. Nick put her lipstick on, blue purple red beauty face-licious extraordinaire. She went to the kitchen to stir a pot of gold and kissed her reflection in the carbon mirror. Oh, baby, it's cold outside. Don't forget your slippers 'cause it's cold outside. Mrs. Nick was a saint when she was forty-something, but now she's reaching sixty and she's beardless and fine just in time for Christmas Eve.

The Christmas procedure went as follows: We made an incision upon the mantel, filling it with holly and tinsel. We set up a pine in the core, garnishing it with electrical outlets and pulsing ornamentation. When it was plugged in, it would spark life back into the space, filling the cavity with light, rejuvenating the five senses and allowing the patient to sigh in delight. Call me a holiday surgeon.