Winston snatched the gift card off my rubber plant. A leaf fluttered to the floor. “Superior Printing congratulates you,” he read. “Suck-ups.”
The dropped card landed a few inches from the leaf. Winston glanced at his watch. “Gotta fly. Big meeting with Uncle Doug. Make sure you finish your work before you move on up to the big house. I want those invoices on my desk today.”
I wanted his head on my wall now and started counting before Winston’s shadow left the room. “Decem, noven, octo, septem.” Counting in Latin made me focus on the counting instead of its source. By the time I’d made it down to unus, the urge to smack Winston into next week had passed.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish