I’ve got a confession, as a youngun I was every Santa hugging, loving, lap sitting, and pushing Mother’s nightmare. Rewind to kindergarten where I was busted for being the grim ripper, doomsayer to a little red headed tot’s belief in all things ho, ho. His panicked Mama had a May Day conversation with my teacher, who had a conversation with my Mother, who I suppose had a conversation with me. However, I wasn’t reprimanded. Through the years I did learn to adapt a little more pc approach to all things Claus. Naughty or nice my relationship to the Jolly Ole Nick was what it was. I don’t honestly remember being sat down and told, “Santa ain’t real, Baby Girl.” But come on, I used my little five year old deductive reasoning skills, to figure out Santa wasn’t checking the catalogues for my circling wish list frenzy. And there were twenty five Santas none of which shared any consistent resemblance to Father Christmas. It’s also always been baffling to me that some Santa’s were gift wrappers and some Santa’s just spread the loot out under the tree? Santa just didn't deliver for me.
However, this year I'm ready to make nice. I think I'm going to repent of my scroogish ways and become a believer. If I get questioning looks in the line at the mall, I'm just going to smile and say, "Look, I owe him an apology and he owes me a barbie dream house from 1980 something. That and I'd like a hot date and party dress this Christmas."
Note: This is the first of a two part series of Elizabeth's Got The Grinch-ies....After this we'll move on to Elizabeth's Got the Joy to the World deep down in her heart and we'll talk of sugar plum fairies, and mistletoe and holly, oh by gosh by golly we will!