The Yuletide season was one of Mogey and Smush’s favorite times of year. This was mostly because every occasion to make merry seemed to revolve around food. When it wasn’t Beef Wellington it was fire-roasted chestnuts. When it wasn’t sugar plums it was nog of egg. And when it wasn’t pumpkin pie… well, it was always pumpkin pie with Mogey and Smush around.
Gift giving, on the other hand, was not typically Mogey’s or Smush’s forte. The pals were too focused on delicious victuals, and frankly, too rotund, during the festive season to think of much else.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, is it, that figgy pudding?” said Mogey from the sofa. He’d already unbuckled his belt and leaned back in his chair. Now he had no choice but to shift to a full recline.
“Quite the statement from a gentleman who just put away three helpings of it,” Smush replied from the chaise lounge-style patio chair he’d dragged in from the deck. “You thought it would be chocolate pudding with figs in it, didn’t you?”
“Butterscotch pudding, actually,” Mogey said. “And Fig Newtons, not simple figs. Fruit on Christmas? Ick! But doesn’t that sound better?”
“As a matter of fact it does,” Smush answered. “So here’s your present!”
He sounded an air horn, and in hopped Miss Elle Toad, the wassailing frog of Bon Bon Pond. In her warty arms she held a mighty glass bowl, filled to the brim with butterscotch pudding. Atop the pudding stood a perfect reconstruction of the famous battle between Snow Miser and Heat Miser, made entirely from Fig Newtons.
Mogey was still too full to sit up, but a single tear rolled down his cheek as he brandished his spoon once more.
“Merry Christmas, Smush. It’s perfect.”
“Merry Christmas, Mogey,” his pal replied.
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