You suck. You are the center of every child's Christmas world. They adore you, dream of you, look to you for approval; then one day you up and vanish like a drunken father off to "the store" to get Pop Tarts. For a while the child waits at the window, nose pressed to the glass, waiting for those Pop Tarts. But they never come. And neither does Santa. Not anymore. For a while you're missed. But then we all come to grips with that fact that you're nothing but a deadbeat that owes a hell of a lot of back child support.
Come to think of it, you never were that great, even when I believed in you. Fortunately my parents stepped up to the plate when you forgot my Optimus Prime. And that Barbie corvette. Wait, did I even have a Barbie corvette? I chopped all the hair off my Barbies, so I'm thinking I wasn't the best Barbie mom. Maybe I just saw one on T.V. Do they even make Barbie corvettes anymore? Do they even make Barbies? Never mind. That's not the point. The point is, you always missed something. You were never perfect, despite all those sugarplum promises.And so it is Christmas once again. I stopped looking for those Pop Tarts years ago. I've moved on. (Toaster Strudels are soooooo much better anyway)...and there you are, you shit. Strolling through the chimney door like you never left, cheeks so rosy and beard so snowy white, a box of vanilla frosted chocolate Pop Tarts in hand. Squeee! You remembered my favorite!! I see you in the eyes of my daughter. Just the way I remember you. Piles of presents under the tree that seem to go on for miles. Bing Crosby on the stereo. And that damn stupid burning log on T.V. You're in the way her eyes light up at the sight of all that wrapping paper she can eat. The squeal of laughter when she pulls ornaments off the tree, and her silly gibberish as she dances around the room with them.
I have just one question. Where the hell have you been for the past 20 years, you asshole?? I'm sorry, but if it took you that long to go to the goddamn store it must have been an uber-awesome Wegman's or something, and I expect a hell of a lot more than a box of crappy breakfast pastries. There better be a tennis bracelet in that bag. And maybe another box of vanilla frosted chocolate Pop Tarts. I've been a very good girl.
Love, Me
Funniest Santa Post To Date.
ReplyDeleteGood for you.. A lot of people think we're bad parents for not participating in "the big red lie", but I don't feel like crushing my kids dreams someday in the future just because its "cute" that they believe in Santa.
ReplyDeleteThe worst was someone asked us, "what are you going to tell them about Jesus." I told them I had a much better shot of them believing that Jesus is real if I didn't lie to them for several formative years about Santa.. it didn't really compute with them though.