Paul Bunyan’s homecoming

I popped my eyeballs out and tucked them in the pocket of my flannels to defrost for a few minutes. Gently knocked my temples against the doorframe to loosen crystallized snot from my nose hairs. And ran an empty mascara wand through my lashes to remove the clinging, teary icicles. As I returned the wand to its hook by the deadbolt, a pool of melted snow spread from under my boots, a dark ring magnifying my entry. “Babe!” I cried, in case I was not yet perfectly obvious. “Fire up the coffeepot! Ignite the candelabra! Your fella’s home off the mountain!”

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