Do you know what would have happened if it had been three Wise Women instead of three Wise Men?
They would have asked directions, arrived on time, helped deliver the baby, cleaned the stable, made a casserole, and brought practical gifts.
I Think Santa Claus is A Woman
I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he’s a she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could possibly pull it off!
For starters, the vast majority of men don’t even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. It’s as if they are all frozen in some kind of Ebenezerian Time Warp until 3 p.m. on Dec. 24th, when they – with amazing calm – call other errant men and plan for a last-minute shopping spree.
Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. (You might think this would send them into a fit of panic and guilt, but my husband tells me it’s an enormous relief because it lessens the 11th hour decision-making burden.) On this count alone, I’m convinced Santa is a woman. Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the bag.
Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck season had been extended. Blitzen’s rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist. Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he’d still have transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions. Add to this the fact that there would be unavoidable delays in the chimney, where the Bob Vila-like Santa would stop to inspect and repoint bricks in the flue. He would also need to check for carbon monoxide fumes in every gas fireplace, and get under every Christmas tree that is crooked to straighten it to a perfectly upright 90-degree angle.
Other reasons why Santa can’t possibly be a man:
- Men can’t pack a bag.
- Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
- Men would feel their masculinity is threatened…having to be seen with all those elves.
- Men don’t answer their mail.
- Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in jest as anything remotely resembling a “bowlful of jelly.”
- Men aren’t interested in stockings unless somebody’s wearing them.
- Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit their ability to pick up women.
- Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.
I can buy the fact that other mythical holiday characters are men…
Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous. Definite guy.
Cupid flies around carrying weapons.
Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers.
Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone screening test. But not St. Nick. Not a chance. As long as we have each other, good will, peace on earth, faith, and Nat King Cole’s version of “The Christmas Song,” it probably makes little difference what gender Santa is.
I just wish she’d quit dressing like a guy!!!
Barbie’s Letter to Santa
Listen you fat troll, I’ve been saving your bacon every year, being the perfect Christmas Present, wearing skimpy bathing suits in December and dressing in fake Channel at sappy tea parties.
I hate to break it to ya Santa, but it’s payback time. There had better be some changes around here, or I’m gonna call for a nationwide meltdown, and trust me, you don’t wanna be around to smell it.
These are my demands for Christmas 1999:
- Sweat pants and an oversized sweatshirt. I’m sick of looking like a hooker in hot pink bikinis. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon and velcro up your butt? I don’t suppose you do.
- Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. That cheap-o molded underwear some genius at Mattel came up with looks like cellulite!
- A REAL man… I don’t care if you have to go to Hasbro to get him, bring me GI JOE. Hell, I’d take Tickle-Me-Elmo over that pathetic bump of a boy-toy Ken. And what was up with that earring anyway? HELLO!?
- It’s about time you made us all anatomically correct. Give me arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp away once he is anatomically correct.
- Breast reduction surgery. ‘Nuff said.
- A jog-bra. To wear until I get the surgery.
- A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher don’t cut it. I want to make real money.
- A new, more 90’s persona. Maybe “PMS Barbie”, complete with a pint of cookie dough ice cream and a bag of chips.
- No more McDonald’s endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl complexion.
- 10. Mattel stock options. It’s been 39 years – I think I deserve a piece of the action.
Considering my valuable contribution to society and Mattel, I think these demands are reasonable. If you you don’t like it you can find yourself a new bitch for next Christmas. It’s that simple. As ever,