The Gift That Keeps on Aggravating

I was so used to the fairy pigs that I forgot to tell my cousin visiting for Christmas. He woke up to his robe gone and two misshapen sacks by his bed.

I rushed in at his cry of shock.

“Wow, what beautiful shoes!” I exclaimed. “Listen,” I whispered, “we have tiny fairy pigs in the house. They make us shoes every night. They think I’m a shoemaker.”

“These look like diseased potatoes!”

“They can’t really sew with their little trotters. Just play along. They’re very sensitive.”

“Oh goody. I kinda want bacon for breakfast now.”

“I can understand that.”