Yes, after reading my experience with Santa at 4 I'm sure most of you were thinking, "What a freakin' brat!"
Yes, yes I was.
My Mom decided that the next year she would take me to some other place rather then where she worked, as I had embarrassed the hell out of her at work.
This year, at the ripe old age of six, I noticed that there were an awful lot of Santa's around. There was one ringing the bell on the corner. There was one at the mall. There was one in my Mom's store.
How in the fuck were all these Santa's running around? Who the hell was in charge of the Elves? What if they stopped working since their boss was gone? How would all the children of the world get toys?
I was a strange fucking kid.
Anyway, my Mom explained this situation by saying that Santa had some Elves that were bigger then normal Elves, and they took down what the kids wanted for Santa and told him.
This did not sit well with me at all. I wanted to see THE Santa. No taking chances for me, as a pink huffy bike was at stake this year. It was all I wanted and I wanted it so bad.
My Mother assured me we were going to see THE Santa. Lord this woman never learns, does she?
So off we went to the mall. The line was freakin' huge, like in the movie "A Christmas Story." We waited forever, and finally it was my turn.
Up on Santa's lap I went.
Wait just a fucking minute! His beard wasn't real! I could see the strings! I noticed it right away! Fuck! I wasn't at the right place! This wasn't the real Santa! God I hate exclamation point days!
So I calmly asked where the real Santa was. "What do you mean little girl, I am the real Santa," the imposter Evile Elf said. "No your not. I want the real Santa."
"Listen kid, what do you want for Christmas?" the jack ass said. "I waaaaaaant the reeeeeeeeeal Saaaaaaantaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!" I wailed.
By now you can probably guess that all the little kids in line where quite interested in my little outburst. My Mom came running over. "This is the real Santa Kelly," she pleaded.
"NO HE'S NOT!!!" I screamed as I ripped of his beard.
Kids started crying and howling that they wanted to see the real Santa too. The jerk off pretending to be Santa tried to get his beard back, but I had the grip of death on it. My Mom pried it out of my fingers, through me over her shoulder, and got the hell out of dodge before the angry mob attacked.
Needless to say I was in big trouble again.
"You're not going to get your bike now! You ruined seeing Santa for all those little kids, and you didn't even get to ask for what you wanted," my Mom lectured.
I cried and cried all the way home. As my Mom related the story to my Dad, I just howled and cried harder. This Santa shit is traumatizing I tell you.
So I was convinced I wasn't going to get my bike, and man was I upset. I was grounded too for being rude, disrespectful, and causing a public scene.
I didn't have to wait all that long to find out if I was going to get my bike. The Grandparents had heard about what had happened, and on December 19th, my 6th birthday, they delivered a brand spanking new pink Huffy bike with a big pink bow for my birthday present.
Grandparents are so much better then Santa.