Page 3 of Mistletoe Wishes and Dragon Kisses

Without so much as a glance to the side, Glo snapped the fingers on her right hand and breathed a quick sigh of relief when her feisty, flippant, and sometimes foul-mouthed Familiar was robbed of her voice. The silence from that side of the room was pure bliss. Wanting to laugh but holding it back as Hill’s mouth moved with incredible animation and more than a little bit of irritation, the Brown Witch continued speaking with Gustav Snowflake, Head Elf in charge of Mistletoe production in the northernmost region of the North Pole, and the Owner/Operator of Gustav’s Glorious Greenhouse and Greenery.

"As you can see, and Hillary so infuriatingly pointed out, I am still in my pajamas and have not brushed my hair–or my teeth for that matter, which I now realize is not something you needed to know. Sorry about that. Furthermore, you can see in Magically living color on the fantastic Enchanted screens created by our invaluable, irreplaceable, and absolutely fabulous Tech Gurus that I do not have a steaming mug of my special blend of coconut, vanilla, sweet caramel, and hazelnut coffee with sugar-free syrup and cream in my hand."

“Yes, ma’am, I do see that, and I understand, but…"

"You understand that it is three-thirty-nine in the morning? You understand that I was awakened at three-thirty-three, also in the morning? You understand that the call waiting in mybrain is beeping, bleeping, peeping, and chirping like Auntie Mabel's Bird Sanctuary on Feather Island? Or…"

Inhaling so deeply that she thought she might pass out, Glo stopped for a moment. Holding her breath, she counted to three, seriously pondering if losing consciousness might actually be exactly what she needed.

Maybe a nice little nap would clear her mind, help her find the solution to the conundrum she faced, and give her a much-needed respite from Hillary and her shenanigans. It might just work. She’d never tried it before, but there was always a first time, right?

Wrong!

Shaking her head, she mentally ground out through gritted teeth,“No. No way. I am the mother-humpin’ Brown Witch of Peace, Protection, and Eternal Love. I am the amazing and incomparable Gloria Angelica Brown, and there is no way, no how, that I am giving up without one helluva fight. I do not bend. I do not buckle. I repeat, I. Do. Not. Give. Up.”

Winking at Gustav while trying with all her might to brighten the smile still plastered on her face, she was ready to give the best rah-rah speech in the history of rah-rah speeches when the very last of her light brown and blond highlighted curls–the ones that just happened to still be hanging onto the red, green, and black plaid scrunchie that matched her PJs–gently floated down to her left shoulder.

It was the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel's back and started an avalanche of emotions Glo never expected. Alarm bells like a tornado siren in downtown Waco shook her brain inside her skull, yelling,“Wake up! Get your shit together! This is not you! You are not, I repeat–You are not a screaming Mimi!"

For the briefest instant, Gloria Angelica Brown found the last few seconds repeating in her mind like a scratched recordskipping on a phonograph. To add insult to injury, a Mystical mirror appeared in her mind's eye, and for the first time in her life–Glo did not like what she saw. It was as glaringly obvious as the big dark bags under her pretty blue eyes–that she was being a grade A, top of the class, pain in the tushy, petulant brat.

Who the heck did she think she was? It didn’t matter if she’d only gotten twenty-seven minutes of sleep. Nor was it important in the grand scheme of things if she hadn’t brushed her hairorher teeth. It also wouldn't change one damn thing if she had a drop of coffee or not.

And bitchin’ about still bein’ in her PJs was… Well, it was just ridiculous. It was one of the perks of her job. Hell, she spent pretty much every day in pajamas, or at the very least, yoga pants and an oversized–shirt. She needed to get her shit together, and she needed to do ittoot suite!

It washerjob to listen. It washerjob to be supportive. It was her job to fix whatever needed fixing whenever it needed fixing. It was her job, nay, her Goddess-Blessed One True Gift and her J-O-B, to make sure that the most important plant of the Holiday season, the one that inspired first kisses, long kisses, passionate kisses, and all other forms of incredibly important expressions of LOVE was perfectly perky, exceptionally evergreen, and readily ripe for the picking.

Oh, yes, the thick, oval-shaped leaves had to be the deepest and richest green there had ever been. Its small, white flowers, made up of four tiny petals, forming sweet little blossoms in clusters of three, four, or five, had to be so white that they shone even in the darkest of nights.

And not to be outdone, it was the accompanying berries, the color of the finest porcelain, whose amazing aroma of lightly spiced clove, fresh holiday greens, and crisp, sweet balsam fir needles made everything more special. They had to be perfectly prepared, wrapped in a silk ribbon, and ready to set the dreamybackdrop for the everlasting love that could only come from a first kiss, a second kiss, a kiss of everlasting love under the one and only Holy Mistletoe.

And…

It was Glo's job to make sure the people who planted, loved, nurtured, and grew those very special plants had everything they needed–even if it was just an ear to bend and rah-rah speech to keep them going.

Glo needed to get her shit together, and she needed to do it in exactly one–quarter–of–one–second, if not sooner.

And that was precisely what she did.

“I am soverysorry, Gustav,” she profusely apologized, meaning it with every drop of the Magic of the Ancient Brown Witches running through her veins. “None of this isyourfault, and I have no right to…”

“No, it isIwho am sorry, Glo. I didn't even think about what time it was where you were or that anyone anywhere else might be facing the same crisis. Please accept my…."

"No need to go any farther, my friend, just let me… ARRGGGHHH!!!"

Screaming at the top of her lungs as she was smacked on the side of the head with a wave of angry Magic the size of a giant tsunami, Glo flew off the cushioned stool her beautifully bodacious booty was precariously perched upon, rolled ass over teakettle through the air, saw her beloved Grinch scrunchie fly in the opposite direction and caught sight of the smirk on her Familiar’s face precisely one half of one second before her pleasingly plump behind–and all of her back–hit the wall on the farthest side of her office. Unceremoniously and incredibly lacking what little bit of grace she actually possessed, the sassiest Witch of the Brown Family Coven of Witches slid down the wall and hit her head right in the middle of the small wooden stoolshe had used when she was a little girl to reach the cookie jar–and still used to that day.

And the humiliation didn’t stop there.

Dazed and confused and unable to stop the inevitable, no sooner had her noggin made contact with the hard, unforgiving oak of that precious heirloom than did her feet fall forward, her knees bend in two opposite directions, and her badonkadonk gave in to gravity. Landing in a position that defied explanation or description, Glo barely had time to inhale before Hillary K. Hippo performed an aerial pike somersault from the top of that very special antique cherrywood bookcase that would have made Simone Biles proud.

Of course, the Pygmy Hippo stuck the landing with otherworldly precision and a fair bit of rage. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of Glo’s back.

Planting both of the four-toed webbed feet of her hind legs into the tender flesh right above Glo's booty with what could only be called extreme prejudice, Hillary K. Hippo pushed up on her tippy-toes and dug those hooves, that were more like fingernails, in as hard as she could. As if that wasn't enough, the nearly thousand-year-old Pygmy Hippopotamus with pretty pink skin, big blue eyes, and the longest eyelashes of all her siblings, who just happened to be loaded with enough Magic to power a small country for a century or so grunted, bellowed, snorted, and honked, "What have I told you about zapping me with that snap of yours?"

“You said….”

“How many times have I told you what would happen if you zapped me with that blasted snap of yours?”

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