It seems that our belief in Santa is fading away…
We put our all into the poem we dedicated to him. We did our absolute best. We also behaved. Tony hasn’t picked his nose for a whole year, and Tati hasn’t… well, let’s not get into that here.
The point is, we went all out for this overweight ho-ho deer torturer! What a sack of crap!
Seriously, what did we get in return?
An auto-reply from someone that even our mailbox can’t bring itself to believe in. An ‘unverified sender’ no less! Hm… Perhaps we need to take the hint?
But no. Hell, no! This shall not mean that our belief in miracles is fading away. We are soppy romantics, god damn it! And no corpulent, bearded no-show is going to take that from us.
That’s why Tati—in her icy cold homeland of Ukraine—finds a bottle opener made from kangaroo balls in her Christmas sock. And Tony—in his blisteringly hot homeland of Australia—finds in his sock a tiny bottle of horilka and a half eaten salo burger. Because someone has to do this job, even if Santa fails.
Someone has to protect our belief in miracles.