I Hate Ham And What Make Christmas Dinner Different Than Any Other Night
With a black garbage bag over his shoulder, and his pants drooping past his waist, I could tell that he wasn’t the real santa claus. He stumbled down the stairs, nearly knocking over my uncle 's christmas tree, as he entered the cramped living room.
My parents didn’t tell my brother and I that “Santa Claus” would be at the Wise’s christmas party. If they had, I would 've been okay with the cramp ride in the green Ford Windstar listening to my mother bleat with dolly parton and ken rodgers. I smiled before a thoughtful frown appeared on my face.
I turned towards my mother and whispered, “I don’t have to sit on his lap, do I?”
She gave me a smile and shook her head no. My shoulders slumped relief. My brother and I sat next to each other eagerly awaiting Santa to call our names. He eventually sat down, with grace of an elephant and gave horse laugh. In the process, his “belly”, which was actually a pillow, popped out. His drink also spilled all over his cotton ball beard and on the couch.
Once he righted himself, he reached into the garbage bag and pulled out a present. It’s shiny wrapping paper…