Warning

Fish climbed up onto the desk, adjusted his Santa hat so it leaned just right, and cleared his throat in a very serious, very important way.

“ATTENSHUN, EBERYONE,” he announced, paws spread wide. “Dis is an OFFISHUL CALEMDAR WARNING.”

He leaned forward, whiskers twitching wiff urgency.

“Due to internashunal bizness, mail trucks, holidays, weather, vibes, and general chaos… calemdars ordered too late may not arribe before Christmas. Or before actibashun date. And dat would be… not ideal.”

Fish paused to let the gravity sink in.

“If you are planning to gib a calemdar as a gift, or if you need it actibated right on time so you don’t miss important fings like Missing Sock Day, or important raisin warnings, or general joy—”
he pointed dramatically at the desk, “—you should order SOON.”

He nodded solemnly, like a tiny seasonal newscaster.

“We are doing our berry best in the mail room. Reuben is pulling wagons. Barry is stacking like a champion. Teddy is superbising. I am… issuing warnings.”

Fish gave a final, reassuring smile.

“Order early. Be smart. Be festibe. And den we can all relax and hab cheese.”

Warning issued. Internashunal bizness concluded.

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