I stayed awake, waiting for the jolly, red guy to stop by our living room Christmas eve. I wanted the opportunity to present a final argument on why I was more nice than naughty. I sat quietly on the couch, going over what I was going to tell him.
“Mr. Santa, sir, I’m not naughty, I’m judgementally challenged.” “I’m not mischievous, I just have a lot of energy.”
With all that thinking and worrying, worrying and thinking, I worked up quite an appetite. And the cookies I set out earlier for Santa were only an arm’s reach away.
...so I ate them.
...and then I drank the milk.
Oooohhhhh... why did I do that? It wasn’t going to help my ‘more nice than naughty’ argument very much. Knowing that I have sticky fingers where cookies are concerned, mom hid the cookie jar after we made up Santa’s plate. I’d have to wake her up to get more... not a good idea, Lydia! She didn’t know I was camped out in the living room, awake and waiting for Santa.
Oh, I am doomed! Santa’s going to leave me a rock under the tree! Or worse... no toys... just a box of underwear!
The linty jelly bean was my only option. I placed it on Santa’s plate next to the empty glass of milk and returned to the couch to regroup. I need a new argument on my behalf. As I sat there, thinking, I must have fallen asleep.
Mom woke me up early the next morning. I was still on the couch. I told her that I had been waiting to talk to Santa, but must have missed him. He probably didn’t show, anyway. “He definitely was here.” she said pointing to the presents under the tree. I was amazed and excited, Santa actually believes in my goodness!
Instead of running to the tree, I turned to Santa’s cookieless plate... feeling even more guilty about eating his cookies. On the plate was a note that said, “Lydia, thanks for the jelly bean. Next to red, green is my favorite color.”
I think, therefore I am... Grouch of the Couch.