No kisses for me

I got my friend Keith to request some mistletoe from Sunday Scribbling 2 last week, so I really do have to take part this time! 

It wilted. The mistletoe that is. Her little white berries shrivelled and dropped off. Those cute leaves folded away. She went all wrinkly. I felt so guilty.

When the festive season approaches, little Miss Mistletoe and her friends must get really excited. They imagine all the kisses they'll encourage, all the romances they'll set in motion and  other things which modesty prevents them from discussing.

I bought a sprig. A small one. But even though I positioned myself beneath it every time someone approached my door, I didn't get as much as a peck on the cheek. Not even from my postman when he delivered my cards (he's quite dishy!) People put kisses under their names on cards, so surely it's the postman's duty to deliver them. But nobody actually kissed me.

Not this Christmas.

And so, I feel sorry for my sprig of mistletoe. I feel sorrier for her than I do for myself. Her hopes, her purpose, her reason for being was thrown away with the leftover turkey and tinsel.

Oh well, never mind.