As in, persona non grata.
As in, mumble in his general direction at the Christmas tree farm, but HELL NO he is not coming in our house, no matter what he's slinging in that sack. She even went so far as to say, "Mama, you and Daddy can get me the easel. I don't want presents from Santa EVER OF MY LIFE." (plus a lot of hand gestures).
It was looking like a blacklist year for Jolly Old Saint Nick.
But, in a surprising turn of events in the final hours of Christmas Eve up in Littletown, Indiana, a deal was struck. We would leave Santa his milk and cookies. And a carrot for the reindeer. And he could leave presents to his heart's content. But he was not, under any circumstances, to enter my parents' home office where Bird slept on an inflatable mattress. Make no mistake, Cringle. You've been warned.
4 comments:
Quite possibly the funniest thing EVER; totally tearing up over here! Nice sign, dear :)
We had to reach the same agreement in my new household as well! Santa was not allowed to peek in to see if everyone was sleeping. He was to unload his loot and hit the skies, toot sweet. We did leave him cookies though, and an orange - because Santa is getting too fat. Healthy holidays!
Our little one was more concerned about Rudolph slipping on the ice on the roof and crashing through the skylights. I have to be silently pleased, though, that she is thinking things through. Bless our little eggheads.
And thank you for the smile, Mama-Snee!
- A.
That's awesome!
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