It’s that time of year again when the ‘Is Santa real?‘ question rears its ugly head and has me dodging questions faster than a politician caught with his pants down.
Captain Studly turned to the dark side several years back, somewhat dishearteningly confessing that he’d given up on the illusion of Santa Claus (but can I still get presents?). Sure, I wanted him to stay all starry-eyed for as long as possible but by the time he start sprouting facial hair, I’d had to say the jig was up.
The Diva? Well, THAT one is still clinging, but only by a hangnail or two. With that one, it’s the same routine every…Christmas…season. Couldn’t she at least wait until AFTER Thanksgiving? The whole conversation is like an endless loop, almost like listening to an elder list all their maladies one after the other ad nauseum. It gets so you even recognize the pauses and what’s coming next. We humans are nothing if not predictable.
Part of me, when asked if I believe Santa is real, wants to shout:
Do YOU believe the man (or any man, let’s be honest) could circumnavigate the globe without Mrs. Claus by his side to read the map-(and forget GPS! GPS my fat fanny-even your Gramma’s GPS can’t find out of the way quilt shops-what makes you think it can find every house, hut and hovel on planet Earth); jiggle and shimmy his gelatinous self up and down sooty chimneys without soiling or wrinkling his suit (I don’t care if he is laying a finger aside of his nose); and still make it home without being spotted by an eagle-eyed tot…never mind the damn reindeer?!?! I’m still not convinced it’s not Mrs. Claus doing all the flying whilst dear old Santa stays at home to bake cookies with the elves. Is he real? I’d say there’s a better chance of me waking up tomorrow a size four and discovering your Dad’s suddenly morphed into Matthew McConaughey (hey, hey all right).
But I don’t. That’d just be pure mean! Sure, I’m a schmitty mommy who firmly believes June Cleaver was lying through her damn teeth all those years, but I’m not a complete bitch. Notice the use of the word ‘complete’. Give it time.
She looked at me kinda funny when I asked if she wanted her picture taken with Santa this year. Kind of the same look I’d get if I scooped dog doo onto a plate and served it up as dinner.
‘Muh-thurrrrr! EVERYONE KNOWS the MALL Santa isn’t REAL!’
‘You mean, he’s like a representative FOR Santa’ I replied.
‘EXACTLY! But the reindeer are real.’