Page 59 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
He lightly nods. “That’s not what the drool from the corner of your mouth is telling me.”
And with that, he steps around me and then up the steps, where he waits for Bob to announce him.
“I wasn’t drooling,” I say to myself, even though his back’s toward me and he’s not giving me the time of day.
Huff.
I was not drooling…at least not physically.
Maybe in my head I was.
Most definitely in my head.
Cole
“If this doesn’t win us first place, I’m firing you,” I say from the side of my mouth to Max.
“Trust me, this is going to get us first place. Sherry is going to lose her mind when she gets a load of these bodacious bods.”
“Can you not say dumb shit like that?”
“It’s true, though. Farm chores have done us a lot of good. Get ready to be ogled.”
He’s not wrong about the farm work.
“Okay, but I’m standing my ground on the hip thrusting. There will be no hip thrusting.”
“Dude,” he groans. “We talked about this. You have to hip thrust at the end. You’ll make her wet.”
“Ew, Jesus fuck, man. I don’t want to make a seventy-year-old woman wet. Show some respect.”
“I am,” he counters. “Seventy-year-olds deserve to be wet too.”
“Can we stop saying wet?” I shout-whisper.
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“No, you did,” I counter.
“Yeah, but you’re the one who brought up the pelvic thrust.”
“Because I don’t want to do it.”
“You’re doing it!” Max says just as our music starts and Bob introduces us.
Max’s plan is simple—put a spin on a Christmas classic. He mixed some audio on his computer to create the perfect soundtrack. How he learned to do that, I have no idea, but he did, and now we’re recreating a scene fromThe Grinch.
I start over by the stairs, out of view while Max struts like a dog down the stage where he’s going to sit, letting his “package,” as he put it, hang for the crowd to gawk at.
Then, as audio fromThe Grinchplays—the scene where the Grinch is trying to find something to wear to the Whos’ party—I’m going to toss clothes from Antlers Antiques on the stage until it’s time for me to flash a leg. That’s when I make my appearance, and the sound is mixed with some Thunder from Down Under-type jam—something not only Sherry will love but also Martha and Mae, which will bode well for us in the long run.
It’s stupid.
It’s ridiculous.
There is zero dignity and not an ounce of merit.
But it will cater to Sherry’s wild side—we hope. Or else we’re going to look like a couple of dumbasses.
