You’re not Santa!

As I lay restless in bed anticipating sounds of sleigh bells on the roof or the jingle of baubles on the tree, it was the rustling of paper from bellow which made me ecstatic at the prospect of stealing a glimpse of ‘Santa’. Eagerly, I shuffled down the stairs and peaked through a crevice into the glowing room. I imagined I’d see a round-bellied man, dressed in red with a rosy complexion to match, and a beard as white as snow: but instead, a peculiar sight met my eyes. I could only distinguish what appeared to be two Christmas puddings peaking from beneath the tree, however as I looked closer, it was to my surprise they were nothing but the festive slippers of my dad, who lay uncomfortably under the fern reaching for far-off gifts. Despite this being my most crushing memory of Christmas, I can’t help but to laugh as I write it!