NOT for the kiddies (Part 2)

First things first, little kiddies: you really shouldn’t be reading my bloguette. It contains references to things like ‘feltching’ that only a minority of depraved adults do.

What is feltching? Well, it’s something you really mustn’t try until you’re much older, and if any adult tries to persuade you otherwise then I suggest that you quickly get a second opinion from the nearest available adult… and if they don’t agree with me, please seek a third opinion from social services.

Secondly, about the whole Santa business; there is something you really ought to know.

Your parents are likely to drag you- I mean, take you along- to meet him in the coming weeks, and while you’re standing in a queue for a long, long time, I suggest you have a little think for yourself.

Are there not several places where Santa can be visited simultaneously in the place where you live? I know some of you have been told that God is able to be everywhere at once, and some of you will believe this… but Santa is not God, is he? So isn’t this omni-present Santa not a tad suspicious?

I’m sorry to have to do this, but your parents are cowards, and it is time someone was honest with you. The truth is that you live in a cruel world filled with disappointment, and you better start getting used to it. Little kiddies, you will find that the world is full of Santa impostors, just as I have found it to be filled with men claiming to be gentlemen who are anything but.

Thirdly, sticking with the subject of Santa, has it been fun waiting in a queue for an hour? I thought not. Ask yourself this: isn’t ‘Santa’ in a similar position to you, spending hours and hours sitting in the same place without moving, day after day. That can’t be pleasant for him either, can it? So why do you believe he is doing it?

When you finally get to the end of the line, I suggest that you ask ‘Santa’ exactly how much he’s getting paid, and if his answer is unsatisfactory, or he reveals that he’s getting little more than he might earn stacking shelves in that same store, perhaps you need to ask him a few more questions. Like why is a grown man dressed in clothes that look even more uncomfortable that the cheap rubbish your parents make you wear? Does he, or does he not, look perfectly ridiculous in that fake beard? I thought so. Does the colour red suit his complexion? I thought not. Isn’t it possible that he actually enjoys dressing up funny?

There are other odd things about ‘Santa’, aren’t there? He’s quite out of shape, by the look of it: no pride in his personal appearance, a bad sign. Isn’t he trying just a little bit too hard to be nice? That belly-laugh of his doesn’t fool you, does it? I mean, hasn’t he just been saying that you’ve been a good little boy this year, when you know that’s not true? He’s obviously a pathological liar. Your parents have told you that only bad people tell lies, I imagine? Let’s go with that line of reasoning, for the moment. I hope they have also spoken to you about men who dress funny and behave oddly in public- no, not the ones at Gay Pride, they’re just fabulous, and unless you’re going to be a dirty nasty bigot when you grow up- you don't want to be one of those, do you? oh, good, I'm glad to hear that! so in that case you really don’t have to concern yourselves with the gay men… unless you want to, not until you're legal age.

The men I want to talk about are the ones who will try anything to find a way of getting closer to little children like you, who shove their sticky sweaty hands deep into their pockets whenever they do and start breathing funny. I certainly hope that your parents have spoken about this? It’s rather a lot to explain, and it’s really not appropriate for you to hear this from me!

But let’s go back to Santa… that’s it, go a little closer, but not too close. He wants you to sit on his knee, doesn’t he? Well, I’ll leave it to your judgement to decide whether that is wise. What do you mean, it’s rude to refuse? If he’s not the real Santa, then he probably hasn’t even got a change of clothes, and it’s hot in the store, and he’s been sweating in that suit all day. There, you have excuses at your disposal: tell him he stinks.

Finally, little kiddies, and I’m afraid that I’ve kept the worst until the end: I’m sorry to have to be the one telling you this, but the truth is that your parents… well, they don’t enjoy your company much. Haven’t you noticed that they’ve been in a particularly bad mood since the start of this month? A little testy whenever you speak with them about what you want for Christmas, perhaps? That’s because Mummy would much rather be out shopping with me or dancing around in a fabulous nightclub with me, while Daddy would much rather be spending time in a dark corner with… well, me again. Just wait, you’ll see… they’re going to buy you something that involves you getting out of their way on a regular basis: a DVD, a computer game… anything, so that you go away and leave them alone.

If they really, truly loved you, maybe your parents wouldn’t spend quite so much money on expensive and distracting toys; maybe they’d prefer to spend time in your company.

They tell you that they love you all of the time don’t they? Again and again, I expect… not that they’re trying to convince you, or anything. Might they be repeating what good parents are expected to say, just like you sometimes repeat what you’re expected to say at school? After all, they don’t want to be considered bad parents, do they? No, of course not.

Just remember that they’re trying. I’m sure that they don’t intend to hurt your feelings by pretending, so you mustn’t hold that against them… not yet. Remember there will be plenty of time in years to come for you to make life miserable for them.

You don’t believe this last part? Well, that’s perfectly fine… after all, what would I know, even if I was right about all of the other things.

Best to trust your parents.

They know best.