|..and it wasn't even Halloween|
I was at my friend Rosa's house. Rosa and her family were some of my first friends. They believed Father when he said I wasn't the spawn of the devil, and I helped them out with a few things. And Rosa fed me chili. Before I got my fire back, it was as close to firebreathing as I could get.
One afternoon as the chili pot was going and I was again explaining to the toddler that I am not a scaled pony for her pleasure, the doorbell rang. JJ, the eldest peeked out the window.
"Mami!" JJ called, "It's the Jethova witnesses."
If there's anything worse than a telemarketer interrupting dinner, it's a Jehovah Witness interrupting the cooking--especially when it's my dinner that's cooking. I told Rosa to let me handle it, pulled myself to full height at the door and let JJ open it.
They didn't even let the door open before they started their spiel. "My friend, have you heard the Good--erk!"
Yeah, crimson and black scaled, fangs, 20-foot wing span. So what if I was a fourth of my regular size? I still had it.
"Oh, look. Delivery." I added just a hint of menace to go with the drool. I live for these moments, I really do.
They were out of the yard and down the block before their Watchtower hit the porch.