Ho Ho... umm, Ho?

I've got to make my yearly phone call to Ella and pretend that I'm Santa Claus. This is the third year her father has put me up to this. This is undoubtedly the most stressful call I will make this year, as each year gets harder than the last. I have to assume she's getting older. And smarter. And I'm always concerned that she's going to snare me in some "how-do-they-come-up-with-this-stuff-at-5-years-old" logic that will catch me in a lie (i.e. there's no reindeer named Pokey, I don't sound like I'm smoking a pipe, the elves don't really have a dental plan, etc.), and then I will be responsible for "the Christmas that was ruined because Jim did a lousy Kris Kringle immitation".

Of course, the other side of the coin is that if I continue to do it too well, eventually I'm going to be speaking to a mal-adjusted 46 year old spinster who waits by the phone for a call from the only real man in her life -- the one whose belly shakes when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly. Or at least, she imagines it does...

To be realistic, I still have the imagination of a very creative 5-year old on my side, so I will probably once again pull this phone call off. But there will come a day, I'm sure, when Ella will come home in tears and tell her parents that a kid at school said Santa doesn't really exist. Her parents will look at each other, and they'll heave a big sigh. They'll sit her down, dry her tears, and they'll finally come clean. And knowing Ella, she will take the news bravely, like the big girl that she already is.

And I know, after she's regained her composure, she'll set her jaw, look them straight in the eye, and in a firm tone of voice, ask:

"So then WHO was it that was calling me on the phone every year?"