Sh*t that John talks me into
So last Saturday, John and I were at his sister’s restaurant, and as we were leaving, she said, “Hey, you know, Santa’s at Beantown this afternoon.”
Beantown is the local coffeehouse. Very charming place, lots of atmosphere. The coffee is mediocre, but it’s a fun place to hang out. Anyway, my reaction was “So?” (I didn’t say it, just thought it.) However, John had other ideas.
“Oh, we have to go to Beantown and get a picture of you on Santa’s lap,” he said. Right, honey. Not in this lifetime.
“No, really,” he insisted. “Let’s go! You want to see Santa, don’t you?” No, not particularly. But he wouldn’t stop teasing me about it, until I finally agreed to go to Beantown.
As we pulled into the little town square, I could see a lot of people with small children on the street, and all the parking spaces were full. “Oh well, there’s no parking,” I said, ready to turn around and go home. But just then, a car pulled out of a space right in front of Beantown. “Um, how about right there, sweetie?” John said. No excuses for me.
So we parked and went in. Beantown was looking very festive, with a tree and lots of different hanging decorations. And sure enough, there was Santa, along with two very cute (and scantily clad) female elves. At the moment, there was no one posing with him, so one of the elves approached me, beaming. “Want a picture?” she said.
I started to demur, but John wouldn’t hear of it. (groan) Fine, all right. Feeling somewhat asinine, I approached Santa, who twinkled at me and patted his lap. “Have you been a good girl this year?” he asked.
John said I blew a great opportunity; that I should have smiled and said, “Actually, I’ve been a very bad girl.” And Mr. D said I should have laid over his lap rather than sitting on it. To both suggestions, my reaction was, “Ew.” Sorry, y’all. I don’t have any Santa fantasies and I don’t want to flirt with him. Plus, if I’d been dressed up reasonably nicely, I might have felt sexy enough to pull it off, but I was in sweats with no makeup. So I simply answered, “Of course!”
Yes, I’m going to hell for lying to Santa. Just add that to the 5,782 other reasons I’m going to hell. 🙂
Enough stalling. Here I am with
Fatso dear jolly Santa in all my glory:
All right, kiddies. Go ahead. Knock yourselves out. First baking, and now this?