“I’ve got to get busy, busy, busy!” The immortal words from Frosty’s meanie magician when Santa tells him to write out some blasted do-gooder promise a hundred zillion times so he can get a new magic-type toy on Christmas morning.
I’m a little concerned that I may have been a tad too nasty so far this year to even hope for anything beyond those cute little bags of mini marshmallows labeled, “snowman’s poop”. The best example I can give you Santa is that my hair salon, the one I recently highlighted in a column, special ordered bracelets for me that even Eddie scoffed at picking up for me during his last appointment. It doesn’t sound that bad if I leave it at that but these bracelets, ones I had jokingly told them would be funny, said the words “cruel” and “snotty” in alphabet letters normally reserved for sweet baby names or even sweeter personality quirks like, “cutie-pie” and “lovable”. I honestly thought, Santa, that my idea had better marketability but I was a tad embarrassed when they brought them out from behind the counter with my name attached on to both with a post-it note.
Like what did that say about me?
But of course I did have fun wearing them around, even receiving complements, before it dawned on me what the complements might be for. My great idea? How well the bracelets described me?
How well they warned others of their impending doom?
Anyway Santa-man as you can see I’m knee deep in x-mas worry. What if none of Eddie’s firefighters attend our holiday party because I was cruel and nasty when I bashed HIS plans in my column three weeks ago? How about the fact that I made my mother baby-sit for Samantha so Ed and I could keep our reservations in Las Vegas when she was recovering from food poisoning? What if Eddie only fills one stocking for me, as we have agreed, while I take his “be generous” instructions to heart? What if you prick yourself coming down our chimney when you land, eagle spread, on the glitter-encrusted pine cones I chose to decorate with?
I promise to be good from now on Santa, really I do. I know you’re watching my every destructive move but you will hold out until the bitter end, right? What if I start by helping Eddie out with this little shindig of his. I called Duane and Pauline Harte today and reserved a Zonta Santa for only $100. Is that enough or do I have to cook too? (Please advise in return mail.) Remember no one may attend if I overpower their taste buds with my famous slippery Swedish meatball sandwiches or my salted banana slurpees.
I could offer to dog-sit my mom’s geriatric pet, “Dobie” thereby scoring dual points with both mom and sister Charlotte. Mom wouldn’t have to ask Charlotte and Charlotte could use the time to get her carpets cleaned from his last romp, right leg lifted, all over her place.
I can’t worry about what Ed deems the perfect holiday gift for me.
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After eighteen years I have learned that I can never return anything he gives me (Remember the disco white suit from 1984? I had just begun to have to wear a white uniform to work everyday!) or make caustic remarks (“Are these cubic zirconium’s?). But I can embezzle cash back from Ralph’s and use it for an after Christmas romp to the Express store, you know to exchange someone else’s present can’t I? Is that too Grinchy? Too cruel?
Finally Santa I guess I could replace all of those dried pine cones with a plate of x-mas cookies. Of course I have to do this after Eddie and Samantha are tucked safely in bed as both could reduce your cookie take by more than a morsel. Then again I could be back in the hole with Ed if he finds out. Can you meet me there, say 10PM, because I need at least eight hours sleep myself? Just stop by our little abode, first, okay?
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In the meantime, you got me pretty good when I bent the wrong way to pick up that case of wine out of my car. But you made up for it later with the free lunch one of my non-grinchy patients provided. But then I had that freak attack of panic when Ed’s sister invited us up to Rancho Cucamonga, (yes, I still can’t believe there’s a place with that name that’s too reminiscent of ‘out in the boonies’) one more time before Christmas, to see their holiday lights. And then you rebounded me once again with that killer score from the Disney store when my co-worker Jessica shared her discount.
I simply can’t take the pressure to be nice all of the time. My cruel and snotty ways cannot be held at bay for an entire month! Even when I called our patient to thank him for buying our lunch I couldn’t stop myself from asking where he’d be at dinnertime.
God Santa, I hope you have a sense of humor.