From Riandra: Popcorn
"Ouch," Watson hissed.
Mary giggled. "Careful, dear. That mean old needle just wants to stick you." She was slipping popcorn on her thread easily and gracefully. Her husband looked enviously at her nearly completed string, then down at where he had stabbed himself with the needle.
Wounded or not, John Watson was enjoying himself. The fire was spreading warmth over the room; Mary had cocoa and cookies out for them to nibble on; the tree looked resplendent, waiting only for the popcorn strings to be finished and hung up.
"I haven't made one of these since I was a child," he said. "We hung them on our tree as well."
"I remember making them with Papa when I was quite young, but we didn't do such things at school. Mrs. Forrester's children and I made them last Christmas," Mary said. She tied up the end of her rope and stood to drape it over the tree. She adjusted the string here and there and then smiled. "Lovely. We should have enough popcorn to finish your string and maybe make another...that is," she swatted his hand, about to drop a piece of popcorn in his mouth, "if you don't eat them all!"
Watson grinned guiltily. "But think, dear. I'm sure the Irregulars will snipe pieces off the tree directly when they come by."
"They won't like if I catch them," Mary threatened, and Watson laughed as he picked back up his string.