Yesterday, the Imp and I read a most provocative post prompt. The “Brand New You, Effective Tomorrow,” was very interesting to me—I have a secret itch to be the hula hoop artist in Cirque du Soleil—but Wallie was indignant. He couldn’t think of anyone he would rather be.
He told my friend in Impish (the language of the Imps) that he wouldn’t be anyone with less than eight arms and six eyes. I don’t know why he didn’t throw in two heads. But he was very adamant, and that was that.
Today’s prompt caused my friend no small amount of glee. That is because while he and I were celebrating the coming New Year via Skype, very modern and avant-garde separated by thousands of miles, in pajamas, watching television while swirling champagne, Wallie was nowhere to be found. The little imp was quite gone.
“Perhaps he is in the pantry,” said my Friend. We both knew how much Wallie likes cookies and candy.
But no. He wasn’t in the pantry.
I looked all over the house until I found my imp.
Wallie was under the bed.
WALLIE'S WENTLETRAP 