Mr. Claus also worries about his own job security. His work is not threatened by corporate downsizing, government shutdowns or financial market collapses. Disbelief is the only thing that can land Santa in the unemployment line.
More difficult than squeezing down a chimney is the reality that you’ll eventually be outgrown.
With this in mind, I must make amends to Santa for my egregious behavior.
It was Christmas, 1977. I didn’t thank you for the Six Million Dollar Man with Bionic Grip doll – now probably worth more than my retirement portfolio. Instead, I turned up my 7-year-old nose.
So this year, you name the cookies: gingersnaps, snickerdoodles or chocolate chip and a big glass of milk. That is unless you’ve grown lactose intolerant over the years.
I realize being a holiday icon isn’t a cake job – around-the-world flying and free desserts aside.
While a magical sleigh is a nice job perk, I couldn’t handle being Santa. Summers off sounds great, but it’s hardly worth the Christmas holiday hypertension. Besides, the year-round elf singing would drive me nuts.
Reach Garret Leiva care of the Record-Eagle or via email at email@example.com.