Dreading what would come, the image of the red-nosed Mary Fiddleworth permanently imprinted inside my poor, addled mind, I swung the cursed door open. Despite my increasing irritation, which was reaching a point ominously close to a less than healthy anger, my upbringing did not allow me to not open doors.  

It’s a pain the arse, having some forms of manners inbred from one’s birth. I still keep my elbows off the table, which doesn’t quite meld to the rest of my lifestyle, which involves a drink here and there. Dailey. But there would be no time for drinks, as I took in what was on my doorstep.

I admit that I was expecting the Oompa-Loompa, Mary, and rest assured; she was there, looking up at me with large eyes that were reminiscent to my last puppy. That was ten years ago, and Gershwin had passed do to an incurable disease I’d prefer not to talk about – but looking at those eyes, I felt just the slightest, tiniest centimeter of my heart soften like liver pudding. Just a bit, before it sprang back into its usually hard texture - at the sight of a figure roughly the same size as Mary.

"Certainly! I could invite them to meet you if you like -" My quick intellect ran through my brain and found, kept away in the memory file box, the words Mary had said to me upon her arrival.  

I looked down at the little person standing beside Mary. This time, it was a he, although it is difficult to tell with their androgynous features. Similar large brown eyes and similarly round face and alas, similarly rounded body. Although it had already been made clear that these two were Oompa-Loompa’s and thus were not acquainted with the cold, I could not help but think Mr. and Mrs. Claus.

Because that’s what the two vertically-challenged people on my doorstep reminded me of, with their pink cherub faces and toothy grins.

“I need a drink,” I grunted, no longer caring, and leaving the door open for the two to let themselves in.

“Water?” The male, whose name I didn’t know, nor cared to know, commented in high-pitched, cheery tones. All I could do was reply tritely, “Something a bit harder,” and made way to the liquor cabinet where the bottles twinkled and winked at me, cooing seductively. “You know you want me,” trilled a particularly enticing looking bottle that had, I must admit, somewhat of an hourglass figure.

I had been planning on saving that one…

“Sir, your blood,” came a voice from behind me that belonged to neither of the Oompa-Loompa’s.

Oh bloody hell, I thought, and reached for the bottle.

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Just whatever mad stuff comes to mind really.

updated Dec 17 '09 by seldom