“No, I won’t have a Happy New Year!” she declared defiantly.
Santa shrugged. “As you wish.”
The child swung her legs restlessly as he scratched his long white beard in contemplation.
“How crappy would you like it to be then?”
Her legs stopped. She began to squirm on Santa’s knee, fixing him with a quizzical eye.
“Oh, you’d like it to be agonisingly bad?” Santa lifted her off. “I understand, child. And you can stop creasing up my magic pants.” He placed the girl on the store carpet. “The elves spent all night ironing them out, you know!”