I don’t know what Santa’s playing at. These days, instead of dropping lovely pressies down the chimney (as he’s undoubtedly famous for), he’s basically been dragging me round the shop, and making me buy my own gifts, with… wait for it… my own money.
And he still gets the credit! On Christmas morning I’ll still roll my bleary eyes and say, “Thank you Santa,” as though he’s somehow benevolent and yes, behind the whole system. I think he must have had too much eggnog.
Then there are the emails…
“Free delivery on a letter from Santa! Packed in a very authentic looking envelope and stamped from the North Pole! You really can get Christmas off to a magical start for your little one!”
Yes that’s right. This year, old Father Cynicalmas over there is asking for a fee to send his own letters out. That’s like me invoicing everyone on our Christmas card list for the cost of a second class stamp. Merry Christmas; here’s the bill. Oh and a Happy New Year. Unless we have to send the boys round.
Here’s a tip. Thick paper, teabag water and maybe a touch of glitter. Ho ho ho and all that, you know what to do; maybe use a sparkly pen, or even an old fountain pen if you have one. Print out a sticker - Arctic Airmail or Lapland Postal Service or something, and the job’s done. Santa need never know.
And if he does shake a sorry head in his grotto and declares you ‘naughty’ instead of ‘nice’ for such duplicity, you can remind him that another example of ‘naughty’ is extortion. Look it up Santa. Oh and don’t forget to check it twice.
No comments:
Post a Comment