But when she came home from a difficult day’s work, she found the plate o’ yams–her favorite yams–was now surrounded by brambles.
& she screamed.
“¡Squawwwk! ¿What’s wrong?”
& then she stilled herself. Fool. You’ll give it all ‘way…
Son o’ Toucan was looking out the window, his eyes screwed.
“If you say so…” he said just before popping back inside. She could hear his muffled voice call out, “I made you yams–your favorite. I hope they’ll make you feel less stressed.”
She stared @ the yams still locked under the fangs o’ its bramble cage.
She sniffed, as if staring @ her favorite stuffy shredded. “Yes. Thank you.”