he's mister green Christmas. he's mister sun. he's mister heat blister. he's mister hundred-and-one:
last year around this time
all she wore to bed was fleece booty jammies.
not this year.
she won't have anything to do with them.
i even cut out the elastic in the ankles.
still a no go.
she may just freeze this winter...
or my gas & electric bills are going to be outrageously expensive.
they call me Heat Miser. whatever i touch starts to melt in my clutch. i'm too much.
