Well, butter my biscuits and call the reindeer!
I have officially awakened…
After sleeping for eight days, six hours and seven minutes. I opened one eye, the the other, then immediately wondered if it was socially acceptable to go back to sleep till October. Christmas may be magical but let me tell you something no one puts in songs: delivering joy to the entire world in one night will absolutely flatten a fellow. This fellow to be exact.
When I finally sat up, there they were. The elves. ALL… Of… Them…
Patiently waiting around my bedside like I had been in some kind of grand holiday hibernation. Peppermint was holding a clipboard. Jingle had maps tucked under both arms. Tinsel was bouncing on his toes like he had swallowed twelve gumdrops and a marching band. And Sprig, bless him, was already wearing sunglasses and a tiny golf visor.
Apparently, while I was asleep, they had been planning. Not just toy planning. Adventure planning.
They started talking all at once about the coming year. A golf trip with “just a little friendly competition.” A hiking adventure where someone claims we may or may not find a hidden waterfall. A few beachside escapes involving sandcastles, seashells, and what I’m being told is “Santa-level relaxation.” There were whispers of road trips, fishing holes, mountain trails, odd little towns, secret bakeries, and at least one suspiciously vague plan titled: Operation Coconut Hat.
I love them. I truly do.
But first?
I need a triple shot vanilla latte.
Not mocha. Absolutely not mocha. I have had enough chocolate recently to make a candy cane question my life choices. The cookies, the cocoa, the fudge, the emergency backup fudge, the “Mrs. Claus said this is the last tray” fudge that was, in fact, not the last tray…
No. No mocha for this Santa.
Vanilla latte. Triple shot. Large enough to make an elf nervous.
And after that, I am claiming the big red chair, wrapping myself in the softest blanket in the North Pole, and watching Netflix for a day or two. Maybe three if anyone mentions paperwork.
The elves can keep their adventure lists close by. I want to hear every single plan. I want the golf trip, the hiking boots, the beach breeze, the silly detours, and the stories waiting to happen.
But for today, Santa is off duty.
The boots are parked.
The hat is crooked.
The remote is mine.
And if anyone needs me, I’ll be under this blanket, sipping my latte, pretending I don’t hear the sleigh being washed outside.
Catch ya’ later! Housewives of the South Pole just started!
~Santa