I'm Dreaming Of An Undead Christmas - Plot & Excerpts
or a rejection of your much-beloved green-bean casserole. Eating the casserole will make them projectile-vomit, which is a downer for any holiday meal. —Not So Silent Night: Creating Happy and Stress-Free Holidays with Newly Undead Family Members This bonding activity could only end in tears and third-degree burns. “Something is bubbling,” I told Iris from across the Jetsons’ kitchen, where she was shelling about five pounds of pecans on a polished-aluminum tabletop. It was as close as she wanted to get to the golden, rippling mixture of butter and sugar on the space-age stove that was eventually supposed to be toffee. I lifted the pot off the stove and tilted it toward Iris’s spot at the table. “Was this how it looked when Mom did it?” Iris shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.” “Ack!” Tess shrieked, launching her petite frame across the kitchen.
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