By JoAnn Mullen
My husband likes fruitcake. It is the only defect in his otherwise flawless character. Last Christmas we received five fruitcakes. We spent the better part of our holiday trying to figure out what to do with them.
We decided we could use one in front of our LCG parking stall to prevent overextension onto the sidewalk. Another we could place in the toilet tank to save water. We could slice one to balance wobbly table legs or use two for bookends. One could go under our pillow in case of intruders, or we could use them as exercise blocks for step aerobics. Maybe we could put one in a vase and use it as a base for a flower arrangement.
My husband looked on the Internet and found out that, unbeknownst to most theologians, there was a fourth wise man who was turned away for bringing fruitcake to the Baby Jesus.
We decided in the end that we’d wait until this Christmas and hope for five more cakes. Then we could open our own bowling alley and use them as pins.