(Radio Announcer Voice)  People see Santa Claus once a year, Thanksgiving to Christmas.  The view of his life and who he is, is so slanted.

If people truly knew the soap opera life Santa lives the rest of the year, they would clamor to charge him with breaking and entering into their homes on Christmas Eve.  Instead, they see him as a benevolent hero delivering government subsidized free presents to nice children everywhere.  And so today, we continue with another compelling episode of — (pause for dramatic effect) — North Pole Days of Our Lives!!

Santa rolled over wearing nothing but a pair of over-sized boxers that the tooth fairy had given him.  He looked at the clock.  11:12 AM.   He’d slept in, again, and knew Mrs. Claus wouldn’t be happy about that.

Besides, Santa knew he snored all night because he didn’t use his Cpap machine for his sleep apnea.  Worse yet, he had binged on left over eggnog and cookies the night before, which gives him severe flatulence.

He looked at Mrs. Clause’s side of the bed. Nice. Neat. Not slept in.

There on her pillow was a Hawaiian colored envelope with his name on it, not the official candy cane striped stationary authorized by the North Pole Post Office.   His chubby fingers trembled as he struggled to open the letter.

He took a deep breath and began to read:

Dear Santa,

It should come as no surprise to you that I am leaving.  Don’t bother trying to find me. I left last night riding Blitzen. 

You binged, again, last night! When you came to bed you were wearing nothing but those ridiculous boxers that Tooth Fairy gave you with the dentures all over them. You’d been drinking eggnog, again. Don’t deny it!  I found the empty cartons and sugar cookie wrappers in the trash.  You know you’re allergic to gluten and lactose intolerant!  I’m sick and tired of waking up at night choking from your gas attacks!

Do you care?! Really, do you care at all?!

I’ll answer for you! No! No, you don’t care! Not one bit!!  

You work one night a year and think you have a real job! You don’t! The elves do everything while you sit back on your high and mighty red throne like you’re a big deal! 

On top of that, you let yourself go more every year!  I swear on Rudolph’s mother’s grave, if you get stuck in another chimney, don‘t call me!  As far as I’m concerned, the elf extraction team can just leave you put until you lose enough weight to make it up and down chimneys! 

You could at least work out!  You work less than a prison inmate, but at least they pump iron.  You have plenty of time to get ripped! You could even wear a mid-drift Santa coat that showed off a six-pack of abs, but NOOOO!  Your abs jingle and jangle like a cellulite factory!!

Every time I try to talk to you about my feelings, you’re more interested in your toy production reports, hot chocolate research and development, and reindeer flight training than how I feel!     

I tell you over and over, but you don’t listen! Nothing changes! You just belt out that ridiculous laugh, “Ho,ho,ho” then claim you’re not laughing at me, but I know a “He,he,he” and “Ha,ha,ha” when I hear one!!  You say I just misunderstand!  Well just take that naïve, innocent little boy act somewhere else! 

You don’t even want my mother to visit!! MY mother, for crying out loud!! I can’t help it if she reminds you of Rosie O’Donnell!  You knew what she looked like when you married me!

You used to be so romantic when we first dated! Not now! Uh, uh!  Now you think watching an animated Christmas cartoon is a date! We could at least watch a Christmas Hallmark movie together, but instead, you always fall asleep in your recliner like a beached whale!  And all the while, I feel like I’m suffocating!!  

Is it so wrong to want someone taller than two feet high to talk to?  Is it so crazy that I occasionally need to visit with someone without pointed ears?  

When I tell you how lonely I am, how trapped I feel on this frozen island of rejection, all you say is how “lucky” I am. You go on and on about how women around the world would love to be in my place as Mrs. Claus.  

Well go ahead and find one, hot shot! Go ahead!  Why don’t you start with that bimbo from Whoville who you always spend extra time with on Christmas Eve!  If her chocolate chip cookies are that great, then eat them all the time! 

She won’t think your red cheek rotundness is so special 12 hours after eating cookies and drinking half a gallon of lactose laden milk!  She’ll see what it does to you and start wearing a gas mask over that pug nose of hers, she will!!   

I’m going to stay with my sister, Polly Esther Moana, in Hawaii.  Maybe for the first time in a long while I can relax!  Maybe I’ll get a tan laying out on the beach with Polly and her Polynesian friends.  They are all large women, so I’ll fit right in.  I’ll have real friends, for once in my adult life, friends with round ears!

Chief Maui, the king of the Polynesians, has promised me a grass skirt and a belly dancer job if I can get a tan. I may even get tattoos all over my body like Polly has.   

But oh! The horror of that to you!!  You’ll turn it all around on me, just like you reject all the misbehaving kids of the world by only giving gifts to the “nice list”!  You’re nothing but a behavior racist!! 

Like when I tried to decorate your sleigh, what would it hurt if I put a bumper sticker on it that says, ‘Santa gives good AND bad kids toys”?!  

I’m so tired of your exclusive, good behavior privilege mentality!  I may even get a “Be naughty, not nice” tattoo on the side of my neck!  What will you do then, huh?  Want me to wear turtle necks all year long around the elves?  Well it ain’t happening, blubber boy!  

I’m gonna be free, free to be me!! Enjoy your ice cube life! I’m gonna feel sand between my toes!! 

Love,  

Mrs. Clause

P.S. Don’t forget to take your aspirin every day, and your cholesterol medicine is in your sock drawer under the Snicker bars you tried to hide.

After reading the letter, Santa was visibly upset. His hands trembled, like an addict needing a fix, he reached for sugar fix and comfort food, a cookie and steaming cup of hot chocolate.

He was afraid that this time, this may be it.  He knew pretending, like he did last year, to have amnesia from hitting his head on a catty-womped fireplace brick wouldn’t work again.  Besides, he only did that because he had forgotten Mrs. Claus’ birthday.

As he sat wondering what do, the phone rang. The caller ID had “Unknown” for the name, but the number was from Whoville….

(Radio Announcer voice)  Who’s calling? Will Santa answer? Is Mrs. Claus gone forever? Will Santa compromise his values and give presents to the naughty list?  Join us tomorrow as these, and many more answers, unfold on another riveting edition of… (sudden pause) …North Pole Days of Our Lives!    

**Disclaimer: any resemblance to a couple or Santa that you may know is strictly coincidental.**