Dear Dad...
I know you think you're cute and all... making me pose with that red-suited freak with the white beard. I know you think it's funny to watch me cry and turn red and mess my diaper. I think you might have even enjoyed the enormous wait in line, with that kid who kept steppping on your heels and bumping into you... and the lady with all the perfume on. I'm here to tell you that I didn't think it was one bit funny at all... I was scared as hell. That Santa dude is creepy... and he smells of liquor and olives. We may have caught him just after his 3 martini lunch. That holiday, pepperminty, B.O. didn't help matters any either.
Now I know you think you helped ease the pain by easing me into Santa... standing by Santa and talking to him so I would get comfortable, but I'm not that easy. You must think I'm some kind of chump to fall for that. I think the problem with that Santa guy (besides the smell and the liquor) is that he has nothing to offer a kid my age. He's all about the scare and the intimidation. Then he thinks he can draw you in with his drug-dealer, candy-cane, "the first one's free" nonsense... He should think about handing out toys to little kids my age or something. I think that might improve his image. He may want to lose some weight as well. I think it could be traumatizing for a little kid my age to have to watch the Santa dude clutch his chest and collapse in front of a mall full of people. Besides... I seem to remember some story you were telling me about coming down our chimney or something on Christmas. I don't think so... You've been up there... you've seen that little 8X8 entrance into our stack. Anyway... I just wanted to get this off of my chest before I forgot and moved on to watching the Wiggles. Oh... and we're out of those cheesey fish crackers... pick some up on your way home.
Sincerely, your son,
Reid
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