Friday, June 08, 2007
You Might Call This A "Sly" Post
Today’s tale actually took place during the last Christmas holiday season. Curious as it may sound, my darling wife’s best friend, Bernie, plays Santa Claus at a party that is put on by the local police for “at-risk” families. These are typically families that either have one parent who is incarcerated, or where one or both parents have been identified as possibly having a substance abuse problem. It is a fun and festive occasion, and is well received by those in attendance.
In past years, Bernie has recruited Angela and our offspring to assist in the festivities. Since Bernie plays the big guy in red, Angela, Maribel, and Colette would play his elves. Three years ago, Angela had a conflict on the night of the party and was unable to attend. My children adored playing elf rolls, and were very disappointed that their mom would miss the party. So, as a loyal father, I volunteered to chaperone them. However, I was told that, in order to be there, I would be forced to take Angela’s place in the Santa situation. This meant that yours truly was forced to don the little green outfit and pointy hat and become a 6 foot, two inch elf.
I am just not the elf type. While my girls looked simply adorable in their costumes, I looked like a dork. To make matters worse, most everyone in attendance proceeded to point out my dorkiness.
A year latter, my family insisted that I, once again, attend the Christmas party and, once again, appear as an elf. For the sake of family peace, I acquiesced. However, I again did not especially enjoy myself. I tried to maintain a friendly smile, but I knew that I looked completely ridiculous, especially since many people told me so. After the party, I resolved that my career as an elf was at an end.
Last December the party was somewhat earlier than in previous years. As a result, Maribel would be engaged in taking finals at school and would be unavailable. Bernie felt that she needed three elves to help her, but could only count on Angela and Colette. Naturally, she determined that I was to come out of retirement. She recruited Angela to inform me of the news.
And, naturally, I refused. I would be a tin soldier, a nutcracker, or anything else that could be reasonably expected to be a tall person. But no green suits or pointy hats. Angela then began her process of convincing me. In other words, she asked Colette to talk to me. Colette, my baby daughter, knows just how to melt my resolve. She widened her big, brown eyes, cuddled up to me, called me “Daddy,” and pleaded with me to be one of Santa’s traditional helpers. How can someone refuse that? So I told her that I would be an elf provided
that she tell me what Angela had offered her to make such an effort to convince me. Apparently, my lovely wife had bribed Colette by offering to get her her own cell phone. Since Angela and I had already determined to get Colette a cell phone for Christmas, the bribe was hollow, but effective nonetheless.
Later that evening, after Colette had turned in, I beckoned Angela to come with me to the guest house for a few minutes. She inquired why, and then saw that I was holding one of our sturdy, wooden hairbrushes that is rarely used on hair but is frequently applied to the bare.
“Why, darling, just what do you plan to do with me in the guest house?” Angela asked, coyly.
“Well, my dear,” I responded, “I’m going to………….”
“Spank you for getting me to be an elf again.”
In past years, Bernie has recruited Angela and our offspring to assist in the festivities. Since Bernie plays the big guy in red, Angela, Maribel, and Colette would play his elves. Three years ago, Angela had a conflict on the night of the party and was unable to attend. My children adored playing elf rolls, and were very disappointed that their mom would miss the party. So, as a loyal father, I volunteered to chaperone them. However, I was told that, in order to be there, I would be forced to take Angela’s place in the Santa situation. This meant that yours truly was forced to don the little green outfit and pointy hat and become a 6 foot, two inch elf.
I am just not the elf type. While my girls looked simply adorable in their costumes, I looked like a dork. To make matters worse, most everyone in attendance proceeded to point out my dorkiness.
A year latter, my family insisted that I, once again, attend the Christmas party and, once again, appear as an elf. For the sake of family peace, I acquiesced. However, I again did not especially enjoy myself. I tried to maintain a friendly smile, but I knew that I looked completely ridiculous, especially since many people told me so. After the party, I resolved that my career as an elf was at an end.
Last December the party was somewhat earlier than in previous years. As a result, Maribel would be engaged in taking finals at school and would be unavailable. Bernie felt that she needed three elves to help her, but could only count on Angela and Colette. Naturally, she determined that I was to come out of retirement. She recruited Angela to inform me of the news.
And, naturally, I refused. I would be a tin soldier, a nutcracker, or anything else that could be reasonably expected to be a tall person. But no green suits or pointy hats. Angela then began her process of convincing me. In other words, she asked Colette to talk to me. Colette, my baby daughter, knows just how to melt my resolve. She widened her big, brown eyes, cuddled up to me, called me “Daddy,” and pleaded with me to be one of Santa’s traditional helpers. How can someone refuse that? So I told her that I would be an elf provided
that she tell me what Angela had offered her to make such an effort to convince me. Apparently, my lovely wife had bribed Colette by offering to get her her own cell phone. Since Angela and I had already determined to get Colette a cell phone for Christmas, the bribe was hollow, but effective nonetheless.Later that evening, after Colette had turned in, I beckoned Angela to come with me to the guest house for a few minutes. She inquired why, and then saw that I was holding one of our sturdy, wooden hairbrushes that is rarely used on hair but is frequently applied to the bare.
“Why, darling, just what do you plan to do with me in the guest house?” Angela asked, coyly.
“Well, my dear,” I responded, “I’m going to………….”
“Spank you for getting me to be an elf again.”
I probably deserve to be spanked for that one.
