A Christmas Story

So I'm a little behind. Whatever.

Here's my Christmas story, circa 1987.

I was three years old. My bff had a Christmas party in her basement. We got all gussied up ... we're talking velvet dresses and those doily things around our necks. After all, we had to look nice for Santa.

It was my turn to sit on Santa's lap. I'm sure he asked me what I wanted for Christmas, but I've blocked out any niceties. You know why? Because that jerkface tried to give me an orange. My response to this truly heinous attempt? "Uh. No thanks. I'm 'lergic." (That's "allergic" for you not fluent in Three Year Old.) And in case you're wondering, no, I wasn't respectful and sweet when I declined his gift. I was snotty. But I maintain that I had every right. Santa's supposed to know that ish, right?

He tried to salvage his mistake by offering me an apple instead, but I just jumped off his lap without a word. (Ha. I sure showed him.) Here's a picture:



One guess to which one is me...

To this day, I attributed the experience to the fact that I was just being a brat. Upon inquiry to my mom, however, about how I came to find out Santa wasn't real - there were several story swaps about this, but I couldn't for the life of me remember when and how my imaginative soul was crushed - I realized I had a perfectly good reason to cut that jolly man with my words. Mom informed me that they never took part in the Santa song and dance. Therefore, I never really believed in Santa and my "naughty" response was a product of that disbelief.

So there was no point to sharing that story, since the season has passed. But it's what you're getting, so deal with it.