Wilf watched the party from the stairs with envy. There wasn’t a ghost of a chance they’d save him a lobster.
He dared the kitchen and snagged one when Chef’s back was turned. The still-hot lobster burned his fingers as he sneaked upstairs. By the time he reached his bedroom, they were as red as his purloined treat.
He tore into the shell, expertly cracking the tail, then sucking the sweet meat from the feelers.
The next morning, ignoring his bandaged fingers, Mother, smiling sweetly, said, “I would have saved a lobster for you, but somehow we were one short.”
I created this drabble from the words envy, lobster, and ghost.
🤣 Serves him right. Hopefully, a lesson learned.