Visited Dawn in CT for Christmas Eve. They have a family get-together each year, and the tradition is for one of the adults to dress like Santa and give out presents to all the kiddies (from their aunts and uncles). The trick is for Santa not to be one of the parents, ensuring that the younger kids are fooled. So, as luck would have it, I was volunteered for the position of lying to all the four-year-olds that there was this fat man that lived in the North Pole who distributed presents by falling down chimneys. Well, except instead of just perpetuating this myth, I have to actually be the main character.
I put on the costume with ease, but had a little trouble with the belly stuffing. The only way to keep gravity from taking hold of the stuffing was to place it half down my large, red pants. Yeah, that made for a real convincing Santa. Especially when my calculator watch peeked out.
With my costume on, I snuck out the back to enter in the front with the obligatory ringing of the jingle bells and “Ho, Ho, Ho, Merrrrry Christmas,” in my best Santa voice (which sounds a little too like my Strong Bad voice). Made a joke about there being no food left for me to eat, sat down and started distributing presents. I attempted to make jokes about my naughty/nice list (to encourage the Christian tradition of, as John Irving put it, “goodness by bribery”). Only problem: no one laughed. Well, I’ve dealt with tough crowds before, so no sweat. But then….it happens.
I’m done distributing gifts when Aunt Joy, socialite extraodinaire, suggests that Santa lead us in a song or two. “Great,” I think to myself, “I know Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel; want me to sing that one, Joy?!” But, no, it becomes worse when Joy, sensing my indecisiveness suggests “Jiggle Bells.” Easy, right? Not when you were scarred for life in 2nd grade by that song. I quickly avert the panic attack by enlisting Dawn to lead in singing while I “go distribute presents to the little girls and boys at my next stop, the south.”
Phew, done. Take off costume, and give the Peter Faulk “Yes, yes, you’re very smart” to all the 10-year-olds that figured out that I was Santa. Oy vey; I’m not doing that ever again–next year in Jerusalem (or the White House)!