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Hangout Review
Drunken, Grab-Ass Santa
South Chicago Suburb
December 24, 2003
As we have no family in Chicago, one of my wife’s co-workers was nice enough to invite us to Christmas Eve festivities at her mother’s house, on the condition that I don their Santa suit and pass out presents. This was a grand family tradition, and they tried to have a different person take the part of the mighty Claus each year, so that the young nieces and nephews were kept guessing. I was cajoled into agreement when her boyfriend, Jackson, who had been Santa the previous year, said that I was expected to get drunk before making my entrance. Getting drunk before doing things is one of my specialties, especially around the holidays, so I could only say yes.
When we arrived, we were treated to a huge buffet of savory goodies, and a fully-stocked bar! It really was Christmas. I drank a bottle of beer for each of Santa’s reindeer in preparations for my jolly entrance. Soon enough, it was time. I took leave to, “get some cigarettes at the store,” and then jogged around the house’s perimeter to rendezvous with Jackson in the garage. He pulled the suit out of a garbage bag while an uncle fed me more beer and tobacco. My heart was pounding as I strapped the false belly-girth on and pulled up the giant red pants. When I finished dressing, Jackson passed me a handful of bells and told me to shake them as I made my way to the front door.
Ho, ho, ho!
I burst through the front door to a hero’s welcome. The adults cheered, and the kids peered out from behind furniture. I tripped on a rug, but managed to stay upright. Someone, whom I couldn’t identify though my slipping beard, guided me to a chair and put a big sack of presents next to me.
The first gift I pulled out was for my wife. She came over to me, and I did what I instinctively do when she sits on my lap, I grabbed her ass. Nothing gratuitous, I was just letting her know that I love her. After that, nobody wanted to sit on Santa’s lap. Nobody except Jackson. And, judging from the photograph, it melted my Nordic heart. I made it through my duties in a blur and quickly drank another sleigh-ride of beers. Everyone said I did a good job, and they seemed to mean it. Thank you alcohol for releasing the real me, and saving Christmas.
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