Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Santa, I believe in you.

I woke up too early today.
Then went back to bed becuase Banjo's little face is irresistable.
Then I overslept.
Oh well.

As I walked to work in my giant plaid Wellies, too cold to take out my iPod so I could at least jam one Michael Jackson song into my commute, I saw a little kid walking with his dad.

“Are your feet warm?”
“Are your hands warm?”
“Are your ears warm?”
“So you’re sure, everything’s warm?!”
“YES! Dad! I don’t care if I’m warm or cold, Santa’s coming this week!”

Nothing puts you in the Christmas spirit more than a little kid who still believes in Santa.

Betsy and I were trying to remember the year we realized Santa didn't exist. I don't remember at all (and I remember EVERYTHING). Maybe it's just something we all want to forget... when we realize it's our parents and not Tim Allen. That's a horrible memory for everyone.

I wonder if the girl I went to elementary school with, who was a Jehovah's Witness, remembers when I told her that Santa hated her because she didn't celebrate Christmas. Yeah... she cried.

I'm awful.

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