A Giant Christmas Secret

Ok. I’m back. And this is important, you guys.

I have super insider info and I’m sharing here for the first time ever. So if you don’t want to know a little about Christmas magic and how it isn’t really magical, look away.

Santa. He’s pretty great, right?  He gets all these presents for kids (even though he’s pretty sure the naughty list should be a lot longer. He’s seen some of those kids in Walmart with their mom and he’s not sure they made the right list after all…) and gets them all delivered in one night.  He’s pretty amazing at all things Christmas, because he has to be. He’s FATHER CHRISTMAS.

BUT did you know he’s absolutely terrible at wrapping presents?  It’s true. Let me explain.

So first things first, no one ever thinks about the fact that Santa has family members he has to get gifts for as well. That’s a lot of shopping and wrapping and by the time he gets to wrapping the gifts for the kids, he’s pretty tired of folding, taping, and garnishing. He used it ALL UP.

Now, you’d also assume that Santa has a special wrapping room. No. He doesn’t. He can’t just wrap presents out in the open because then people would see what’s in them and that defeats the whole purpose. So no, instead Santa has to hide in his room and wrap. And he totally always thinks that his bed will make a great wrapping table, but it’s soft and heavy things crinkle the paper and he definitely needs to remember this next year.

Santa absolutely has Christmas music playing while he wraps, but he forgets because he’s concentrating so hard on trying not to rip this extremely delicate barrier that we insist on putting over EVERYTHING. Santa ignores the music while pondering what human came up with this idea and why they chose this media. He pauses from ignoring the music just long enough to wonder what the hell John Lennon and Yoko Ono whisper to each other at the beginning of that song. Except he doesn’t say hell. He probably says “what the jingle” or something.

Santa also takes a lot of liberties with kids’ presents.  Too much paper?  Easier for little fingers to grab that pillow on either side of the box and rip it open. Not enough paper?  Add a strip of scrap. No one will see. Rip a corner?  Just tape it. Because listen, Santa bought cheap paper again this year because he has too many gifts to wrap in that $10 roll. See?  Santa knows that the only people who will admire the wrapping are adults because kids don’t even blink before tearing it all off.

Sometimes, Santa gets lazy and waits until zero hour to wrap. Sometimes he makes this way harder than it needs to be because he drinks too much eggnog that night and forgets where he hid things. He then finds unwrapped toys months later and hangs his head in shame.  But like, really does it matter?  Suzy changed her list daily, right up until Christmas Eve so really she doesn’t even know what she wants anyway.

Santa also can’t micro inspect every package. There are times, if you look hard enough, you might find a cat or dog hair has hitched a ride on your gift. Yes, Santa has pets and who are we to deny him that companionship?

You might unwrap a box and find a long brown hair attached to the tape. “Who’s is THIS!?” you’ll think. This is the most secret part. It’s Mrs. Claus’. She’s not a natural gray. Don’t. Tell. Anyone.

Now. There’s only one time Santa might ACTUALLY say a bad word. I think it’s forgivable because it doesn’t happen often but it totally did happen that one time and he said something really not nice:  When Santa moves the scissors and incredibly, they touch the roll of wrapping paper and rip a GIANT hole in the center of the paper rendering that spot useless for the present he needs to wrap. I knew you’d forgive him. It’s really the worst.

So that’s it. That’s the big secret.

So Santa, if you’re reading this and sweaty, covered in tape, and yelling “WHAT THE JINGLE!?” I see you and your hard work.  Have a Merry Christmas, Happy Holiday, and get ready to do it all over again next year and every year for the rest of exsistance. No pressure.

Now where’s my eggnog…

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