Saint Peter knocks on the door at 124 E Angel St in Heaven at the residence of Bernice K. Johnson. Bernice has tailored her home to her afterlife lifestyle, an adobe hut with a hot tub and an outdoor shower.
Saint Peter: Hello, is this the residence of Granny Johnson?
Bernice: It’s Bernice.
Saint Peter: Right, apologies. Granny Bernice, I hope you have had a wonderful holiday season. As a gift from Heaven Corp, we would like to like to allow you a glimpse into the Wunderorb to show you how your family spent the holiday. Would you like that?
Saint Peter reveals from behind his back the Wunderorb, the size of an obtrusive snow globe.
Bernice is unsure why Heaven corp insists on the pomp and circumstance. They offer the same “gift” for every holiday. You can also get a glimpse into the Wunderorb for perfect attendance at church or anytime at all for three dollars a minute at the bodega on the corner of Messiah and Main.
Bernice observes St. Peter’s dopey, ageless smug and concedes.
Bernice: Eh, quickly. I’m heading out to charge my crystals in the River Styx.
Saint Peter: Of course!
Saint Peter waves his robbed arm above the Wunderorb and passes it to Bernice.
Saint Peter: Here was your family on Christmas Eve. It was unseasonably warm, so your son, David, took his daughters Emily and Monica on a hike. Emily even brought her little Ian! He is walking this year!
Saint Peter: Ian. Your great-grandson. You met him four times before you passed.
Bernice: Got it. Cute kid.
Saint Peter waves his arm above the Wunderorb again.
Saint Peter: Here was your pug on the same day, cozying up by the fire, enjoying his new home with your sister and her new golden doodle!
Bernice: My sweet, Bobby-Boy! He was wearing the bow-tie I bought for him for our last Christmas together. Hello, my prince!
Saint Peter waves his arm above the Wunderorb a third time.
Saint Peter: Here were your grandkids, Lizzy and Henry. They were busy making “Granny’s Famous Monster Cookies”!
Bernice shakes her head. A small fit of laughter escapes.
Saint Peter: They’ve been making these cookies every holiday upon discovering your beloved recipe in your kitchen after you passed. This has become their new favorite tradition. They bake these cookies and share memories of you.
Bernice clutches her stomach. Her laughter grows as Saint Peter continues.
Saint Peter: Seriously! Look, they even have the recipe embroidered on a decorative dishtowel.
Bernice begins to roar, wiping away tears with the sleeve of Saint Peter’s silk robe. She tries to speak between gasps for air.
Bernice: That recipe was lifted from a back of a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips I bought at Kroger. The same damn one they were using in the recipe.
Saint Peter takes a closer look himself.
Bernice: The only difference in my recipe is a strong dose of nutmeg. My ex-husband is allergic. It gives him the shits.
Saint Peter takes another look. Lizzy offered her grandpa a cookie. He rubbed his stomach and declines.
Bernice: Come on, Lizzy!
Lizzy looked at the ground defeated. Seeing the disappointment in Lizzy’s eyes, he took the cookie and managed a single bite. When her eyes widened in anticipation, he begrudgingly ate the whole thing.
Saint Peter: No! Richard, stop!
Bernice keels over, unable to contain her joy. She crawls into her living room and retrieves her bong. After a few puffs, she offers it to Saint Peter who politely declines.
Bernice: Well, that was rich, Pete. Thank you.
Saint Peter hotly covers the Wunderorb and turns to leave.
Saint Peter: Well, urm. Happy holidays to you, then.
Bernice: Heck yeah!
Bernice shuts the door behind St. Peter, yet he continues to hear her howling laughter for the next three blocks.