gabbyscaredsantaGabby wanted nothing to do with Santa this year. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Keep me AWAY from that man.

The wife and I planned to take the Gs to see the jolly fat guy Christmas Eve afternoon. When we told her where we were going, she threw a brief fit. And by fit, I mean

GABBY: NOOOO! I don’t wanna go! I wanna stay home with dad! Don’t make me go!! I don’t wanna go!

Using ample amounts of patience and duct tape, we got her in the van. Once we arrived at the mall, she became a leech latched onto my torso. When we walked in, she wouldn’t even look at St. Nick. He clamped eyelids were slammed into my neck.

Of course, Big G had no such qualms.


After Big G’s photo shoot, I attempted to take Gabby toward the object of her deflection. She wouldn’t budge. Santa held out a sugar-laden token. “Here Gabby. Here’s a candy cane. Don’t you want a candy cane?”

“Look Gabby,” I said. “Santa wants to give you a …..” Heeeyyyyy. How does he know her name? And why does his voice sound familiar? I looked to the wife and asked, “Doesn’t Santa sound a lot like Alex from church?”

The wife responded, “Yeah, kinda.” I look at Santa. He winks and, briefly, raises both arms in the air and pretends to hullahoop. Yep, that’s Alex.

So we two parents played another thick layer of lie on the holiday falsehood. The wife told Gabby, “That’s not really Santa. That’s Alex from church dressed up as Santa! Santa’s real busy so Alex is helping him out.” Worked like a charm.



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