My Traumatic Day of Work (before Christmas)

 The little tickle I felt on my ankle in the workroom as I made my last copies turned out to be the Critter That Shall Not Be Named. I screamed, but tried to muffle it down to that scream you make at the movie theater when you don’t want everyone to think you’re a punk, or at a ladies’ luncheon when someone unveils an ugly baby. I definitely danced, though, and stomped with a Holy Ghost fervor all the other imaginary Critters out of my pants legs.


And in true Spaz fashion, I’ve been under the mistaken impression that I published this one a week ago.


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