Santa

I recently asked the children I babysit if they were ready for Santa. The twin 9 year old boys and 11 year old girl all looked at me with a puzzled expression. One of the twins spoke up, saying, "We know he's not real. You don't have to pretend with us." Then I gave him a puzzled expression. Before I could rebut with, "Yes huh he IS real," his twin brother said, "Shut up! She still believes in him!"

It's true... I do. I've believed in the big man since I was a tike sitting on his lap and rambling off my list of Christmas Wishes. When I was around 8 years old, I heard the kids at school talking about how Santa Claus isn't real. Of course I asked my mother about it.

"Of course he's real." She said.

"But the kids at school say that parents are the ones who put the gifts under the tree and eat the cookies and drink the milk."

"The kids at school are wrong."

"But it makes sense. I mean, how can one man get all over the world and visit everybody in one night?"

"Magic."

I will admit that I am quite gullible at times, but even my 8 year old self had a hard time believing this. Especially since all the kids at school were telling me it was a big conspiracy. I decided to save face with my mother and simply pretend to still believe that year. And when I woke up on Christmas morning I made a big production of thanking Santa in order to keep my mother happy. The following year I leveled with her and I told her I knew the truth.

"So, I guess that means you won't be getting as many gifts this year? Santa only brings gifts to children who believe in him."

"Huh?"

"Well, it's simple. If you say you don't believe in him, then he doesn't exist. If he doesn't exist then what's the point in presents?"

Well, I never thought about it like that. She had a point. Like any other child I didn't want a Christmas with no new toys to play with. So, once again I put on an even bigger production of believing in Santa. My plan worked and I didn't get a lump of coal in my stocking.

As the years marched on I made it a point not to question Santa's existence. When my younger step-sister learned the same way I did that "If you want presents, you believe," she, too, shut the hell up.

I guess it is a form of bribery, but really, it isn't. With maturity I understood my mother's motives. She wasn't trying to lie or keep me in the dark. She was simply trying to keep the spirit of gift giving alive. To her, Santa is an invisible force... an anonymous donor of good cheer. He reminds us of the people we love and why we go out of our way to show them how we feel during the holiday season. Plus, he's jolly and surprisingly agile.

Santa takes many forms. He's a Marine collecting new unwrapped toys for children. He's ringing a bell for The Salvation Army outside of the mall. He's an anonymous person paying off layaway tabs at K-mart for total strangers. He's the woman working at the Food Pantry on Christmas Eve. He's inside of each and every one of us. When you least expect it he will show up and make you wonder why you ever doubted his existence at all.

Santa for a Grown Ass Woman

Listen up ladies... I've stumbled upon something interesting.

It all started when my muse was chattering away to me earlier today. He was sharpening his claws after slicing his catnip. I suppose he was high on the stuff because he spilled the beans about a conspiracy I didn't even know I needed to know about. Ya know? He must not have realized he was telling me top secret information about the secret society he belongs to, but I was hanging on every word while he confirmed the hard, cold truth about Santa.

Yes, Santa. That fat, presumably jolly (the elves say he gets cranky as soon as the Halloween decorations go up each year) seemingly immortal (yet aged) man living at the North Pole. THAT Santa. You have no idea the intricate thread work that is the workforce behind that guy. Well, you're about to... because I'm going to tell you all about it.

First of all, you need to know that he DOES exist. But he's not one guy. *GASP* I know! There's the main guy... the one that's often imitated and portrayed as the guy we all know and love, but there's a hierarchy at play that we're not privy to.

The guy we know is basically a spokes person. He handles the PR, if you will. The real ones in charge are a collective group of Santas all dealing with their own individual age range and gender. Yeah, that's right... The Santa which handles your wishlist now is not the same Santa responsible for that Cabbage Patch Doll you received in 87.

There's a specific Santa for just about everything you can think of. Little Janey wants a doll, Jolly Fat Santa can handle that. 20-something Kate needs a job; Human Recources Santa is on it. Betty needs the gossiping bitch at her office to shut up and Karmic Santa smites her with laryngitis.

My stoned up little muse basically told me that Santa is everywhere. And the elves... this is the wicked part... live among us. When you're wishing your boyfriend would know how to give you an orgasm... Elf 56 will be mysteriously handing out pamphlets at the doctor's office. When you have a paper due in three hours, elf 97 will be the Barista who offers you a double shot of espresso. And when you have something bitchy to say, Elf Zero will say it for you... randomly... without you even having to be there. He takes his direct orders from this Santa (he handles single women between the ages of 20 and 40).

Face it ladies... our wish lists have changed. Sure we would like a new tube of mascara and some expensive creamy moisturizer in our stockings... but we're old enough to know how commerce works and where those kinds of gifts come from. The stuff we can't buy... the stuff we really need... that comes from a higher power and now I know how to get it.

So how do you get Santa to listen up? Write him a letter! He has an elf who's just chomping at the bit to help (the elf may even be one of your friends! I know! You have no idea how far this conspiracy goes!) Need help writing a letter? Use this as a template:

Dear Santa,

Please bitchslap Yolanda with a backhanded compliment.

You know why she deserves it.

Thank you.

Love,

Yours truly.

Don't be surprised if tomorrow somebody tells Yolanda their grandmother wears that same perfume and her hair looks so nice when she washes it. This somebody will be somebody who's authority Yolanda will be afraid to question so she'll just smile and take it. And you'll know in your heart that not only is Santa real... but he got your letter.