We don’t talk to Scoobi about Santa Claus. Not since the heart attack. Something about having sat on Santa’s lap moments before his vital organs began to expand and contract in violent spasms causing him to collapse in a sweaty heap on the cottony fake snow surrounding his chair that makes the whole Christmas season eternally unsettling to a child.

About Nik

Writer, occasional photographer, common street juggler. I enjoy cooking, crafting, a clean house, animals, and senses of humour. Oh yeah and being the mom of my boy John.
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