To Saint Nick, we’re just saying no…
Post cricket subjection and pre dinner, Greg’s Mum switched over to Carols By Candlelight and laughingly commented that I was CLEARLY not a fan of the Wiggles and their Christmas exploits. Shuddering, I confirmed that I was clearly not and that I would definitely NOT be subjecting their future grandkids to such a fate.
Amused, she remarked that that was what Grandparents were for, though her mood changed and she sat aghast when I mentioned not teaching these theoretical children about Santa either.
This afternoon, whilst drowning in masses of dried cranberries and fruit cake mixture I idly began wondering about the ‘to Santa or not to Santa’ question. When I was a child, unless I knew the person under the suit, I thought Santa was a massive pedophile and was… Not a fan, shall we say, of climbing into a strange man’s lap.
And then this evening I came across THIS little gem from the bowels of the internet:
Crack head Santa: So Supernatural it hurts. From Albert's EYE @ flickr
Decision made. Operation: Aggressively refrain from teaching conjectured kids that Santa exists? Engaged.
Mirrored from Vintage Nettles.