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 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, quadruple the size of a snow globe.
Bernice is unsure why Heaven Corp insists on the production. They offer the same “gift” every holiday. Otherwise, you can 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 Saint Peter’s dopey, ageless smug and concedes.
Bernice: Sure, 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 is 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 son 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 is 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 wore 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 are 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 since they discovered the recipe in your kitchen drawer 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.
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 the back of a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips from the grocery store.
Saint Peter takes a closer look.
Bernice: The only difference in my recipe is a heaping dose of nutmeg. My ex-husband is allergic. Gives him the shits.
Saint Peter takes another look. Lizzy offers her grandpa a cookie. He rubs his stomach and declines.
Bernice: Come on, Lizzy!
Lizzy looks at the ground defeated. Seeing the disappointment in Lizzy’s eyes, her grandpa takes the cookie and managed a single bite. When her eyes widened in anticipation, he begrudgingly eats 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 to calm herself down. 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: Happy holidays to you then.
Bernice: Heck yeah!
Bernice shuts the door behind Saint Peter, but he still hears her laughter for the next three blocks.