Santa slides down a chimney, only to discover a woman has been waiting for him. A gorgeous blonde wearing only a robe and heels, lounging on a sofa, glass of wine in her hand. “Oh Santa, won’t you join me for a drink?”
“Gotta go, gotta go, can’t disappoint all the good boys and all the good girls!”
“But, Santa!” she pouts, standing up. “You’ll disappoint this good girl. Won’t you let me be good to you?”
“Gotta go, gotta go, can’t disappoint all the good boys and all the good girls!”
“In that case…” She shrugs off the robe and bends over the sofa. “Maybe you’d prefer to punish me for being naughty?”
“… gotta stay, gotta stay, can’t get up the chimney with my dick this way!”
———————–
Considering the season, and considering that my current narrative will get a bit darker before it brightens up a bit, I thought I’d take a break from my usual bleak nonsense and throw in some silly nonsense instead.
I forgot to include this story in my last post: I work at a car rental company at Stockholm’s largest airport. Last May, Taylor Swift performed for three nights here, and I met a lot of international tourists who made the trip just for her. So many, in fact, that I wouldn’t be surprised to find Swedes made up the minority of the audience.
Among them, I met a family of five from North Philadelphia. They told me they’d had the chance to buy tickets to see Swift there. Instead, they saved money by purchasing:
– Five round-trip international flights
– A rental car for six days
– Food and lodging for five people, six days and five nights
– Five concert tickets
If that doesn’t sound batshit fucking insane to you, I don’t know what would.
I thought I’d share a gift-wrapping story today. I’ve never been a fan of the wrapping procedure. I love giving presents, but wrapping, not so much. I have improved over the years, though, and wrapping this year felt much less like a chore. Well, I can’t wrap presents without thinking of the following tale. I feel like I may have written this before, but I can’t remember for sure, and if I don’t remember I doubt you will, either. Besides, if I’m known for anything, it’s repeating myself.
Flashback to… sometime in 1996 or ’97. Recently married to my first wife, I was buying gift wrap. It was either for Christmas or her birthday in late summer, I can’t be sure, but what I can be sure of is that I was in an exclusive boutique on King’s Highway in Haddonfield, NJ, a town full of mansions a stone-throw away from Camden, often considered the worst city in the US. God Bless America. Anyway, I’ve never been someone you’d describe as fancy; name brands and expensive things are not my bag. My first wife, though, those things mean the world to her, so I wanted to give her something nice. Well, more like I needed to.
As I said, this was an exclusive boutique, and the gift wrap I found was exclusively expensive. Can’t put a price tag on happiness, though, amirite? I brought it to the counter and the very attractive woman at the counter lit up. “This paper is so nice,” she said, flirtatiously. “Do you like wrapping presents?”
In an alternate universe, I avoided her question yet still answered honestly, and suavely at that. “I like to give.” Then she asked me to follow her to the stockroom and make passionate love to her, only for me to disappoint her by showing her my wedding ring and saying, “Sorry, darlin’, I’m spoken for.” That’s a fun universe.
In this universe, however, I laughed. Scoffed, more like. “Oh God no.” All the energy she’d displayed evaporated. She just told me how much I should pay, I paid, and she looked at me like, if she could grab me by the scruff of my neck and toss me out onto the street, she would.
For the next three decades and counting, I can’t wrap presents without being reminded of blowing my one shot at being James Bond-smooth. While I don’t believe in regret, if I had a time machine, I wouldn’t go back and kill Hitler. I’d go back and kill myself.
On that note of self-harm: Happy Holidays!
