Whiskey'd Up

It's Christmas Eve, we're trying to fit everything in. We've wedged church into our evening - a good thing, don't get me wrong, but it's seriously hurting our time table.

We rush out of the Cathedral - tricky to do on ice. But we can't be a minute late. We have 105 minutes to travel 90 miles.

We must be in Hay no later than 8 PM.

In the past, my mother has arranged for Santa to do a Christmas Eve pop-in. He lives up the road a couple miles. This qualifies as a 'neighbor' there. The kids go nuts and it's awesome. But, this year. Well, the middle two are pretty sharp. We're on the cusp with them - a full on visit doesn't seem responsible. They'll notice any discrepancy. I've suggested a glimpse. Maybe he runs past the windows or they hear bells and see him run out the door. But, under no circumstances should they be close to him.

The roads are not awesome. A little icy in patches. Taking it easy while in a rush is not ideal. We pull into the driveway at 7:45. Time to spare.

There is a pickup near the house. A farmer rig. Diesel. Flat bed. Uh oh. Is our visitor early? The nieces come racing out of the house. Screaming that Santa is here! 

Santa is here!

We grab the kids and tell them to run inside. First question would be, why is Santa in the house, he's just supposed to run by a window or something at 8 PM. Not be inside at 7:45.

We run in. There he is. Leaning against the back of the couch. Casually talking to my nephew, who's 16. Nephew and I make eye contact. He looks confused.

As am I.

I'm standing there in my mothers family room looking at this guy. And, I have no idea who this is. I come from a very small town. I know everyone. Literally.  The population is 14. Not only do I not know who he is, his beard is crooked and he's wearing Nikes. Which, I support, of course. But, the kids are looking at this guy skeptically.

The older niece, looks at her mom and I hear her say, 'That's not Santa. He has on sneakers.'

Um, kid, we've got bigger problems. This isn't just not Santa. This is a STRANGER.

Santa?

My mom comes in. Also with a confused look - as this guy, this stranger, is asking the kids which of the reindeer is their favorite.

Clearly the memo of 'a glimpse' didn't get to him. Or, our actual requested Santa will run by the window at 8 PM and then this guy who murders families on Christmas Eve by posing as Santa will kill us all.

The nephew disappears while this 'Santa' yammers on about how cold it is at the North Pole, what reindeer eat, etc.

I start trying all my tricks to get him to leave.

So, Santa, you're really busy, you should probably get going.

Yep, real busy. So kids, what's you're favorite toy? His beard slips a bit. He's very thin. And young. I'm not even sure he shaves.

I start toward the door. Wow, Santa, you don't want to be late. We've sure appreciated you stopping by.

Please don't murder us. Please don't murder us. Please don't murder us. I've watched way too much SVU to be comfortable with a strange Santa in the house.

And finally, he steps outside.

My mom and I make eye contact as I close the door. She mouths, "I don't know who that was." I hold in a giggle - which, side note, I think can kill you. Much like holding in a sneeze.

The kids are wound up and happy although the older ones are clearly in 'the know'. They turn on the TV to start the Christmas Story marathon.

Adults head to the kitchen. The nephew comes in - he's smiling. My mom asks, so you know who that was?

Well, Santa apparently got a little bit whiskeyed up tonight. So he sent his nephew.

At that moment, my brother, bless his heart, hands me a whiskey. We go ahead and follow Santa's lead.

Which really begs the question - why aren't liquor stores open on Christmas, when you need them the most?