My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Baby, you can deck my halls any day. You can trim my tree, light my menorah, and spin my dreidel. You can string my lights and hang my ornaments; I don't care. And you can certainly unwrap my presents. I've got lots of presents for you, hon. Just pull my ribbon and let it unravel. Open up my box, and you'll find a treat. Yank my tinsel and Okay, this has to stop. I cannot for the life of me write you a seductive holiday letter. Okay? Just stick to sexting and make-outs sessions after binge-watching TV, and we're good. We good? We good. Love, Charlie This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.

I had heard that the newest teacher, Miss Danforth, was very strict, according to my older classmates. However, on the first day of class, I felt drawn to her. She was quite young to be teaching, with very short hair, a bowtie tucked under her small, square chin, and hands as big as my father's so that when she gripped a whiteboard pen, it almost disappeared in her grip. "I don't like going by 'Miss' Danforth," she told the class, "but simply by 'Danforth,' if you wouldn't mind."