Most of the Christmas presents got wrapped and tagged today. Stick-on bows were stuck on, reinforced with tape. Everything is under the tree. As far as I'm concerned, my responsibilities end there. If Someone attacks those presents, and they get messed up, it's out of my hands.
Mine. All mine.
Mine. All mine.
And all so tasty, too.
"Poor Possum," thinks Harris. "I don't see a bicycle rickshaw under here."
1 comment:
Happy 1st Christmas you sweet little guys! I assume Wendy is under the bed but where is Uncle Possum in all of this colorful commotion?
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