Santa Says, “Oh No, Not Again”

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Our son Cooper who is seven this year wanted me to write you to apologize for what happened last year. He thought you might still be mad, and he thought you might not stop by our house.

I honestly thought the fire was completely out in the fireplace. But when you slid down the chimney and the embers caught your suit on fire, and you were standing there in your red underwear, it did present a problem.

Up until that time I didn’t know our bulldog Harry didn’t like the color red, and further complicated things by biting the seat out of your underwear.

Surely you understand that my wife got excited when she saw a stranger in our house in his underwear, and started flailing at you with a tennis racket. I hope you bring her a new tennis racket this year. I bought her one, but she says the strings aren’t strung as tight as the one she used when she broke the strings and tennis racket over your head.

You must understand that the EMT’s don’t normally get a call on Christmas Eve to try and find Santa a new Santa suit and underwear. I thought they did good to find you a chef’s outfit with that tall white hat. I had no idea they made band aids as big as the one the EMT’s put over Harry’s bite on your behind.

And you must admit that was a nice gesture when that lady EMT went up on the roof to pet your reindeer because they were getting restless. How many times are EMTs going to lose their footing on the roof, slide off, and land on top of another EMT standing on the sidewalk? Of course the EMT standing on the sidewalk did break his collarbone, but he did catch the lady EMT sliding off the roof. The EMT’s did have to call some more EMT’s to escort the EMT with a broken collarbone to the hospital.

By then a crowd had begun to gather, and our neighbor’s eight year old son Johnny was explaining to our seven-year old son Cooper that Santa didn’t exist. I didn’t think it was too nice of you to dump that bowl of cookie dough on Johnny’s head, but at least you were only dressed as a chef at the time and not Santa.

My wife did get mad at you, because that was the cookie dough she was going to use to bake you some cookies. She didn’t stay mad long, and decided she’d compensate by ordering you a pizza.

Our neighbor who doesn’t get into Christmas too much had already called the police, and when they got here, we decided the police and the EMT’s should have pizza with us and Santa. With our neighbors here, or at least most of them, we decided to have a block party and ordered more pizzas.

Our neighbor who doesn’t like Christmas came over and wanted the police to arrest Santa, and the police said they couldn’t find anybody dressed as Santa at the party. That neighbor went over to another of our neighbors who’s in the National Guard, and wanted him to call in the National Guard on the grounds that Santa was disturbing the peace.

Santa you must admit everything turned out okay. One of our neighbors had a Santa suit that fit you almost perfectly. And my wife gave you that small blanket with Merry Christmas written on it, and you pinned that to your backside to cover up the hole that Harry had bitten in the seat of your underwear. And you made up for lost time with your new express delivery.

Even our neighbor who didn’t like Christmas found out you, Santa, and he were classmates when you came down for a couple of summers to take courses at Harvard in public relations.

Everything will be fine this year. I haven’t told anybody you’re coming.

There is one thing I almost forgot. With all the noise last year, I guess your reindeer got excited, and they were prancing so hard, their hoofs punched a hole in my roof. The roofer charged me $439.84 to repair it, and my homeowners’ insurance has a $500 deductible. Would you leave me a check for the $439.84 on the table with the cookies and milk?

I dropped the letter in the mailbox, and it must have been four days later I got home, and Cooper was crying. My wife had gotten a phone call from the North Pole to tell us Santa would not be stopping by our house this year.

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