It’s Christmas morning and Bruce (that’s what I call him) is sliding down the chimney. I see his pointy head in the fireplace. I hold my breath lest my reluctant leprechaun senses my presence behind the curtain and disappears.
For a year, he’s helped grow the fortunes of my business by perfecting the stitches of my handcrafted shoes left on the workbench.
Bruce sees my gift – tiny shoes. Scurrying to the Christmas tree, he puts them on.
Bruce kicks his heels together. Bruce does the jig back to the chimney, leaving behind a trail of fairy dust.