Mrs. Frump had no intention of falling asleep on the grate. She had just settled down for a couple of minutes to rest and warm up. She was wearing the heavy, knee-length coat she wore all year around (the one that magically made her look 20 pounds heavier); but, truth to tell, it was more hole than whole, and, being rather frail, Mrs. Frump could use all the extra heat she could get.
She really had no intention of falling asleep, but the grate felt so warm under her. For the first time in…well, a lot of time, anywa, Mrs. Frump was content. Having had no intention of falling asleep (honestly!), Mrs. Frump was understandably surprised to find herself rudely being shaken awake.
“Yaaaaaaaah! She screamed. “Get away from me or I’ll scratch your eyes out with a cheese grater!”
“Now, what are you going on about?” Mr. Frump responded.
Mrs. Frump shook her head. “Oh. It’s you,” she dully said.
“You were expecting Adolphe Menjou, maybe?” Mr. Frump asked. “You’d be waiting an awful long time for Adolphe Menjou.” He sat himself down on the curb next to Mrs. Frump’s bags, as close to the old woman as he could get. Several minutes passed. Several people passed with them. Mr. and Mrs. Frump took no notice of either.
“Oh, Missus,” Mr. Frump eventually said, “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas?” Mrs. Frump tested the words, searching her memory for their proper context. “Merry Christmas? How do you know that this is Christmas?”
“I’ve started finding wrapping paper in garbage cans.”
“Oh.” Pause. “Shouldn’t we be helping the needy or something?”
“Help the needy? Missus, we are the bleedin’ needy!”
“Oh.” Pause. “I don’t need any help. Do you?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s that, then.” Pause. “So, what did you get me?”
Mr. Frump wiped a greasy hand across his only slightly less greasy jacket, reached into a pocket and pulled out a shabby, crumpled bow. It may have once been red. Handing it to Mrs. Frump, he said, “It may not seem like much, but it was all I could find. You know how difficult last minute Christmas shopping can be…”
Mrs. Frump squealed with delight. “You old smoothie!” she told her mate. Reaching over the bag closest to her, Mrs. Frump daintily placed the bow in a bag on the fringe of her entourage.
Mr. Frump lowered his head, somewhat embarrassed. Small tufts of white hair stuck out of his head at insane angles. “I wanted to get you a diamond, of course. Like they say: a diamond is forever – a bow is until the day after tomorrow. But, well, rich people don’t seem to throw away their diamonds…”
“Well,” Mrs. Frump mused, “a diamond would have been nice…”
“I know. I was kind of hoping for a velvet smoking jacket…”
“Velvet smoking jacket! What would you do with a velvet smoking jacket? We can’t even afford smokes!”
Mr. Frump sniffed. “Haven’t you heard? It’s not the gift, it’s the thought that counts.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
A police car stopped in front of Mr. and Mrs. Frump, and a uniformed officer stepped out. “I’ll have to ask you to move on,” he reluctantly told them.
“We aren’t doing anything,” Mr. Frump gruffly responded.
“I know,” the officer absently insisted, “but my orders are to get you to do nothing somewhere else.” He wasn’t all that concerned about Mr. and Mrs. Frump; his mind was on the upcoming New Year’s party, his inability to get a promotion and, for the fifth year in a row, why he had to explain to his children why they couldn’t have the Christmas presents they had asked for.
Mrs. Frump didn’t collect herself to go – she started rummaging through her bags. The police officer eyed her with suspicion. “What is she doing?”
“Looking through her bags?”
Mr’s Frump found a scrawny chicken leg. With a creak, she got to her feet and, after waving the chicken around like a magic wand in order to get the dust off of it, handed it to the police officer. “I was saving this for a special time,” she explained. “I guess this is as special as any. Merry Christmas.”
“I can’t accept this,” the police officer stated.
“Why not?
“I’m Jewish.”
“Oh.” Pause. Very awkward. “Well, umm, happy Ha…Channu…umm…”
The police officer smiled. “Well…look,” he said, “I’ve got to get back to the station. Try not to stay here too long, and Merry Christmas to you, too, okay?”
Mrs. Frump smiled, a heart-freezing sight. “Okay.” Soon after the policeman left, Mrs. Frump turned to Mr. Frump. “Dear,” she asked?
“Yeah?”
“We are Christians.” Pause. “Aren’t we?”