“All right then, my wonderful boys and girls,” Eleanor announced. “It’s time for the most magical part of our evening—photos with Santa!” She paused and smiled, waiting momentarily for the cheers to die down. “Everyone will get a turn to sit with Santa and tell him their Christmas wishes, so let’s be patient, no pushing or shoving. Parents, please make your way to the photo area while the children line up nicely behind Miss Rose, our beautiful elf assistant.”
Dozens of excited children followed Rose toward the makeshift North Pole setup inside the large community room.
A few seconds later, I entered the room to the cheers of the kids. Luckily, everyone was orderly and non-confrontational as they formed a line in front of Rose.
I walked to the front of the room, eyeing the red velvet chair on the stage, the fake snow scattered on the floor, and enough twinkling lights to give most adults vertigo.
I waved Rose over to the side of the stage to speak with her for a moment before we started the photo session. She hesitated with a puzzled look before joining me.
“Leo is going to adjust the lights on the stage, so it’ll be a minute or two before we can start,” I said, then appreciatively eyed her costume. “I meant to tell you earlier—you make the perfect elf.”
“You’re joking,” Rose said.
I shook my head. “Not at all. And thanks for doing this. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said. “And I meanliterally, never mention this outfit or the cookie catastrophe for as long as I live. This is just another one of those episodes I would like to clear from my RAM.”
“Come on—it’s not that bad,” I said. “I’m sure you can find something positive in this situation if you look hard enough.”
“Sure—whatever you say,” she replied with that dry wit I found charming. She gestured down at her bright yellow tights with obvious resignation. “I’ve always dreamed of having banana legs, and here I am, living the dream.”
“Well, lucky for me, I just find bananas a-peel-ing,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Was that your attempt at humor?” Rose asked.
“Guilty as charged,” I admitted. “Though in my defense, the red velvet suit comes with a mandatory pun requirement. I don’t make the rules.”
“How unfortunate for both of us.”
“Could be worse,” I said. “I could break into my knock-knock joke repertoire.”
“Please don’t,” Rose said.
“Fine—be that way.” I chuckled and then adjusted my beard. “All right, showtime.”
I settled into the chair on the stage and watched Rose guide the first child from the line—a girl who looked about six or seven with pigtails and a scowl that could curdle milk.
“Santa, this is Madison,” Rose announced with the utmost professional efficiency.
So far, so good. No accidents.
We’re off to a great start!
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” I boomed. “Welcome, Madison! Come sit with Santa!”
The girl climbed onto my lap with all the enthusiasm of someone attending a tax audit, then crossed her arms.
“I know you’re not real,” she immediately said.
I leaned back in mock surprise. “Well, I do not know what you’re talking about, young lady, but if you think I’m not real, why are you here?”
Madison rolled her eyes with the world-weary attitude of someone who’d clearly figured out the adult conspiracy. “Because if I go along with it, I know I’ll get all the presents I want.” She plastered a smile on her face and enthusiastically waved to her parents with the authenticity of an Oscar-winning actress.
Her parents waved back, looking as proud as ever.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Five and three-quarters.”
