A thick, foul-tasting slime coated his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Cupping his hands in front of his face and exhaling proved that his breath could peel the paint off the North Pole. Disoriented at first, he slowly became aware of his surroundings, and that he was covered in a light dusting of snow and pine needles.
This was one of the risks of the job. The plates of cookies and fudge left out by eager children were always welcome. It was the spiked eggnog, and mulled wine, and the occasional tankard of ale that caused a problem every time.
Fortunately for him, the Girls knew his itinerary and could get him from house to house without him having to take the reins. Unfortunately for him, he also knew Vixen and Blitzen weren’t shy about snapping embarrassing pics of him to later post on Twitter and Facebook.
Still in his red coat and tuque, sans pants and boots, he had been unceremoniously dumped in the bed of his sleigh to sleep it off. He would be working hard to get off the Missus’ Naughty List this year.
Trifecta, a weekly one-word writing prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: Roof [noun \ˈrüf] 3: the vaulted upper boundary of the mouth.