The woman who styles my hair gives me a lot of terrific leads on kid friendly events. One of the activities she introduced us to a few years ago was the Santa Experience at our local mall. The man that acts as Santa there is fantastic with kids and we've always walked away with good pictures, happy kids, and feeling like we had "scored" when it came to finding an authentic Santa.
This year, though, I noticed that Santa seemed a little off his game. A bit rushed, not so enthusiastic. I wasn't too bothered by it. I mean, the guy must see countless children in the six weeks before Christmas, so I didn't think too much of it. And the girls had fun...that's all that mattered.
I was a bit miffed, though, when I realized that the DVD of the visit did not work, and upon calling 4 days later, was told by the staff person, "Yep. That sounds about right. We had technical difficulty that day and the manager is looking into it." She did not offer any sort of refund and when I asked for a new DVD she said "Sorry. We delete all files every three days."
Naturally, at my haircut last weekend, Jennifer and I started talking about our visits to the Santa Experience. I whined about the DVD, she whined about the new set-up being poor for pictures. And then we both hesitantly shared that Santa seemed off his game.
At dinner that night, I slipped into "Impulsive and don't think before I speak mode," and shared with Dave that Jennifer and I had both shared our experiences at Santa and were both a bit let down. I told Dave of our shared realization that something just wasn't right with Santa this year, as well as Jennifer's hypothesis, "She said she thinks Santa's had cancer and he might be sick..."
Dave's eyes bugged jerking me back to the reality that I am eating dinner WITH the children who have VERY large ears and curious minds and I stopped speaking immediately. There I did it again. I get so wrapped up into a thought, I just spit it out. Like all the times we've had company at dinner (mainly my brother and his microbiologist wife who likes gross things as much as me) and I start telling the story of the puppy mill dogs with so many ticks on them it felt like they were coated in pebbles, and eventually died of blood loss. And the puppies whose eyes looked cloudy, but upon closer inspection, their eyes were actually coated in maggots. Or how Sophia didn't look so good and then she asked for a drink of water, "and I knew what that meant so I gave her a drink then she threw up -".
"Shannon Stop! We're eating. Is that appropriate dinner conversation?"
Dave was clearly stumped speechless, but having previous experience with my impulsively inappropriate dinner conversation, he recovered in a few moments and asked the girls some sort of distracting question. They started talking to him...and I don't think the "cancer" thing even got to them.
And by the way, I truly hope that Santa is ok. He is just the nicest guy around...I mean, you know, the guy who plays Santa. Are there children reading this blog?