Mr Frosty

That was it.  Mr. Frosty.  Only that was not it.  It was spelled “Mister” not just “Mr.”.

More formal.

Mister Frosty.

That was it.

He with the big whipped flip of white hair that was made of vanilla soft serve sticking from his cone head.  He with the little red bow tie.

Laying in bed years away from those moments, I could still pull up the image of the old truck with the plastic model of him on the passenger’s side that stayed lit even in the afternoon light.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)