Blame It on the Mistletoe

by Beth Garrod

They wrote one every year when they took the decorations down on the twelfth day of Christmas and packed it up ready to find when they opened them again the following year.

Still, first thing ticked off on my 127-point “Perfect Christmas Plan: Mission America” list, which took up the first few pages in my new notebook. I’d had the cover personalized to say “Holly’s Book of the Best Christmas Ever,” and it was probably my favorite thing I owned.

“Wow.” I was holding a red cup in their spiritual home! “I mean. Thanking you, sir. You’re very kind—I’m ever so grateful.” Great. Now I was becoming a Victorian street urchin.