Ho Ho Ho And A Bottle Of Rum
Two days before every Christmas I would wait for Santa to come visit on the fire engine. He would walk behind that big red pump truck greeting everyone with a hand shack and a candy cane. We, my sisters and I, would always know when he was coming because we could hear the faint sound of the siren in the distance.
Where I grew up you either knew someone or you were related, so when Santa, a volunteer fire fighter, made his rounds he drank them, too. My house was towards the end of the trip so you can imagine the condition he was in. He greeted us with a Ho Ho Ho and a Merry Christmas and gave us our candy canes. Not even a half a block to bottom of the hill and poor old Santa passed out. Yup! Flat on his back, passed out, not moving drunk.
Of course, he wasn’t finished with his mission so they had to call in a replacement. He was undressed right there on the street and the new Santa put on the suit and resumed like nothing happened. This is just how we roll.
I can still see that big fat red suit laying flat on the ground glowing from the street lamp.
Tonight Santa came on the fire engine he didn’t walk behind the truck, he didn’t shake hands or give out candy canes. He was down right boring. My cat entertains me better than that. So instead of sending a check in my donation envelope to the fire department, I’m gonna send a letter telling them how their Santa sucked and he needs to be more be more jolly and they need to give out candy canes.
I’ll take a drunk Santa at 10 any day.