I try not to be one of those people who thinks about their favorite holiday all year round. But when you live for Christmas, life reminds you of it all of December, most of Christmas in July, and, lately, before Halloween has begun to be celebrated by people who aren’t decked out in skeletons year round. (These are also my people, so calm down.)
Even in August offered gentle reminders this year. The girls and I gathered at Minnie’s house for game night. Luck of the draw found us playing a Truth or Dare board game. Even worse fortune had me drawing the truth card that would would embarrass me most of all.
“Confess your celebrity crush,” Madeleine grinned as she read the card because she already knew the answer.
I glared at her and reached for the card. I knew not to trust her from past renditions of game night. To my surprise, the card read exactly as she had voiced it aloud. I took a deep breath and looked around at my expectant and already half-giggling friends.
“I’ve always had a crush on Santa Clause.”
The laughs held for a full minute before Dotty started to titter and the others joined her. Then the questions flew.
“Santa?”
“Really? You love gifts that much?”
“Can I see that? I guess. He does have those twinkly blue eyes.”
“And that red suit.”
“To go with those red cheeks.”
“And that bowl full of jelly.”
Soon their ridiculous commentary tapered off and they turned back to me expectantly.
I frowned at them, “I already answered the question on the card, so I have nothing else to say.”
~~
By the time Christmas season rolls around, I have forgotten that celebrity crushes can crush you. I even pretend to be unaware that when you have a crush on someone who never existed, it mangles you. Particularly when you encounter people pretending to be them on every street corner. I just want to scream at the phonies.
“You’re not my Santa!”
But I keep my mouth shut and my head down and keep charging through this winter wonderland to accomplish all the holiday tasks that suddenly spring up at the beginning of December. Today’s goal: get three dozen cookies safely to Madeleine’s house for the cookie exchange. We do this earlier every year, yet I always find myself behind before the day of the exchange. I almost trip over her threshold but Sammie catches me. Luckily, Madeleine has already grabbed the cookies, so no harm comes from my clumsiness.
“Let’s see what we have here,” she says as she brings my offering into the kitchen and opens the lid. “These are lovely.”
As she sets my chocolate-covered cherry cookies next to the other five varieties, I realize that you should never tell your friends about your forbidden love. Five lovely cookies with suggestive names greet me from fancy trays. I read them slowly, trying to ascertain their composition before glaring at the baker named on the card.
“Marry Me, Mr. Clause, Brownies.” Brownies topped by a cheesecake layer and crumbled gingerbread cookies made by Minnie.
“Forbidden Claus Kisses.” Sugar cookies, flavored with peppermint, cut to look like lips and decorated with stripes of red and white frosting made by Sammie.
“Noel Love Blossoms.” Red velvet cookies with Hershey hugs in the middle and green sprinkles by Ginger.
“Santa’s Snowballs.” Snowball cookies with chunks of candy cane formed by Dotty.
“Crinkle Claus Nookie Bars.” Nanaimo bars with a Christmas twist made by Madeleine.
Though each contribution looks delicious, each successive name makes me blush more until my cheeks feel inflamed with fever. Before I can decide exactly how I want to react to this, Madeleine throws her arms around me and falls into a fit of giggles.
“I’m so sorry, Kitty, I just couldn’t resist this theme for the year, since you love Santa so very much that you secretly want to be the mother of the heirs to the North Pole,” she waggles her eyebrows at me.
“You promised never to bring that up again. It was one of the rules of the game,” I hiss.
I look around my group of friends, trying to decide if they still deserve that nomenclature. As Ginger looks guiltily at her feet, I decide it is rather amusing despite how my cheeks still burn. Once more trumping my attempts to speak, Madeleine grabs my hands and leans in to stage whisper in my ear.
“I have the best idea. Let’s get you on the naughty list.”
“Excuse me?” My mind can’t keep up with whatever crazy she has in store for me next.
“You get on the naughty list and the big man will want to reform you. I mean, you are normally such a goody two shoes.”
“Oh my gosh! Let us help you,” the rest of my friends squeeze into the circle to add to the crazy factor.
I try to talk them down, but I am the one converted to their way of thinking. Thus I find myself waking up the next morning with a carefully crafted list on a scrap of paper next to my bed. I shake my head as a few of the rejected naughty ideas pop back into my head. I review my friend’s goals for me and know I am not going to succeed at them, since each one seems more convoluted than the one before it.
~~
Kitty’s Naughty List
1. Absolutely no good deeds.
2. Steal something.
3. Bully someone online.
4. Vandalize a public place.
5. Put chewing gum on a teacher’s chair.
6. Sneak onto Santa’s sleigh, so he can help you reform.
I know I have number three squared away. I already plan to bully Madeleine until she knows not to mess with me again—let alone share my secrets.
~~~
As I crawl out of bed, I already feel dirty. Years of picking the right action for the right reason have left me completely unprepared to succeed at being truly naughty. Surely, if Santa exists, he will see right through my charade. But I can’t back out. My friends have all but issued a triple dog dare. In fact, one glance at my phone reveals the wisdom in putting it on “do not disturb”.
While I slept, my friends inundated me with more naughty suggestions. All except Dotty who hoped I enjoyed her cookies. She chased that solitary comment with a snowflake emoji followed by a soccer ball. A warm blush creeps up my cheeks again and the phone goes facedown on my nightstand.
After getting ready for my day, I resolve not to let my friends’ fun interfere with my workday. The weeks leading into the holiday may be festive and relaxed at work but even a bad girl has to take pride in a job well done. Or maybe I am nothing more than a goody two shoes. That’s not so bad, is it?
I hold onto my resolve until my boss staggers into my cubicle with a pile of paper so high that even the man everyone jokes should be a linebacker in the NFL hunches over as he carries it. He sets it down on the one clean part of my desk with a relieved sigh.
“So, Kitty, I need you to fix this report before Christmas…”
I look up at him in stunned silence until he says that magical word of all words, then all the naughty I have been seeking after seems to pour out of my mouth, “No. I won’t do it, sir.” I did pause before throwing out that last word, but my tone makes it clear that no respect lies behind my refusal to do my job.
He lips twitch as he looks down at me. Then he clutches his stomach and tears roll down his cheeks as he finally lets loose the hysterical laughter brewing inside.
“Oh my gosh, Kitty, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
I stare at him, bemused and confused. “What is so funny?”
“I was just joking. I was on my way to the recycling center with these and thought I would play a merry little joke on you.”
I wrinkle my nose, “Not a very funny one.”
He clears his throat and looks sheepish, “Yes, I see that now. You know what you need?”
My frown deepens.
“A couple days off. Since this report doesn’t need done and you keep us ahead of schedule year round, why don’t you take a couple extra days off to be Santa’s little elf?”
“What?” I almost add “did you hear” to my question but stop myself just in time to avoid adding any more crazy to my day.
“Oh, and I have this for you,” he pulls an envelope from his back pocket and beams down at me until I lifted the flap.
Inside rests a rather generous bonus. All my naughtiness flees and I leap up to give him a big hug.
“None of that now,” he says gruffly, gently pushing me away, “You earned it.”
“Thank you.”
~~
As I pass by the Santa ringing a bell for the Salvation Army, I avoid eye contact and random exclamations of his faux Santa-ness. I also don’t follow my normal habit of tucking any spare bills into the kettle. That should boost my naughtiness.
I follow that up by refusing to acknowledge any of the smiles or holiday greetings I receive on my way home. Admittedly, they come few and far between even this close to the holidays but I have to build up my rebellion to truly succeed at my cause.
All of my attempts to be naughty eventually lead me to believe that trying to attract attention on the nice list would be a lot easier for me. But Christmas Eve rolls around and finds me hovering somewhere in the limbo of Mr. Claus’s two very important lists. I distract myself by accepting my mother’s offer for an old-fashioned family Christmas Eve. Tucked into my former bedroom, now remodeled to appeal to more adult tastes, exhaustion finally pulls me down into sleep.
My eyes slowly open, and I look around for clues as to what could pull me from deep sleep. Darkness whispers that sugarplums should dance in my head until dawn. So what woke me? In answer to my unspoken question, a rustling noise rises from downstairs. I slip out of bed and sneak down the stairs. I turn the corner just in time to see a figure dressed as Santa placing his last gifts under the tree. Assuming my dad has decided to surprise us somehow, I step forward to throw my arms around him in a surprise hug.
As I reach him, he stands up to his full height. I barely register that my dad stands taller as he places finger to one side of his nose and lets out a deep bass “ho ho ho.”
Now I stand on my roof, shivering slightly as snowflakes flutter down on me. I gasp as my eyes rest on an immense red sleigh and eight reindeer prancing restlessly. I duck down as Santa turns around to place his overflowing bag back into the sleigh. Then he climbs aboard with the grace of a much younger and slimmer man. I follow his example and clamber up into the back of the sleigh, but I don’t do so with as much grace. Had the reindeer not chosen this moment to stamp their feet impatiently, Santa could catch me sneaking aboard, but Donner and his mates give me an assist I hope to someday reward with extra oats or whatever reindeer adore.
I crawl into the bed of the sleigh, cozying up to the bag of presents. The fabric surprises me with its softness and smells of pine needles and cinnamon. Cuddling in, I hope I’ll wake up from this crazy dream soon. Or maybe not, because if I don’t wake up, I could end up married to the magnanimous man of my dreams.
Is it possible to sleep in a dream? I wake to find myself stretching in the back of the sleigh while the gently jingling bells beat a different cadence and Santa’s rumbling voice thanks each reindeer by name for their hard work making every child in the world happy. As I contentedly listen to that deep, resonating voice, a tickle starts at the tip of my nose. I shrug my shoulders, trying to scratch it with as little noise as possible. As often happens in dreams, I fail and the tickle produces an epic sneeze. When I gain control of my head again, I freeze, hoping somehow that neither the reindeer nor their handsome master noticed my very loud announcement of my presence.
“Come on out, Kitty McClure,” he interposes a jolly “ho ho ho” before continuing, “Even on Christmas Eve, I know when you’re awake.”
I throw back the now empty sack and shiver as cooler air rushes in to welcome me to the North Pole. He steps forward to reach up and help me down. After my feet find terra firma, he unbuttons his fluffy coat and drapes it over my shoulders. I stare up at him struggling to keep my mouth from sagging open in surprise, admiration, and a little fear. He lets the silence between us stretch before he fills the air with his melodious voice.
“I admire your dedication, my dear, but as one of my most ardent admirers, you don’t have it in you to be truly naughty.”
I blush from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes as much at this praise as at the realization that, of course, Santa knows about my schoolgirl crush. “Oh?” I gasp. He knows everything, but how? He watches. Can he also read minds?
“Sometimes, a Christmas wish presents itself that I just can’t grant,” he looks at me meaningfully over his adorably tiny spectacles, “That has happened more and more over the past few decades since electronics don’t really bring happiness.” He sighs and shakes his head before continuing. “As you know, I am a happily married man. A very old, very happily married man.”
I nod numbly and he continues, “So while I am flattered, I could think of you as nothing more than a daughter…”
As he pauses, a vice grips my heart and I silently curse my friends and their ideas, “But as I have been training my son, Little Nick,” another pause as I look up at him with questioning eyes, “he has been impressed by your goodness, even over the past few weeks as you tried to get on the naughty list.”
I blush again, wondering how much I can blush before my blood gives up on racing to reveal my embarrassment. Santa holds out the wrapped package he has been cradling as he talks. As I reach for it, he speaks again and my hands pause in midair.
“So this year, we’ve decided to let you choose your own gift. The first is this item my wife and I picked out for you. It’s not quite the lump of coal you wanted this year but it comes with the bliss of thinking this night was just a dream and the chance to go back to your normal life. Or you can agree to meet my son and see how things go which may completely change your life in one way or another.”
I stare at him. Processing. He has a son. My brain fails to completely compute, so I shrug and look at him helplessly.
“Excellent. If you keep doing what you’re good at, being nice, Mrs. Claus and I would definitely…” he pauses here, perhaps realizing how far ahead of the situation, his daydreams has leaped, “…love to see more of you.”
I feel like people want recipes for those naughty-sounding cookies…
I also expect that some of you are hoping I have another post to make this not a “lady or the tiger” situation. I promise nothing. November was harsh this year and I am hoping to have a mostly finished novel to revise and begin posting by the new year. Who is excited for that????
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