Santa: bringer of fear

We took Samson to the mall tonight to get his picture taken with Santa. Yikes!

We might as well have tried to sit him on Darth Vader's lap. He started almost immediately with a quivering lip as I tried to hand him over to jolly old St. Nick --- who, truth be told, looked less like Santa and more like an unholy combination of this guy and these guys.

I mean, I get that Santa's supposed to be "husky" [side note: even now the sting of that term haunts me; damn you J.C. Penney's Boys' Section; damn you to hell].

Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, I mean, I understand that Santa is a big guy, but this Santa looked like a mudslide with a beard. He was leaned way back in the chair and nearly immobile --- it looked like they poured him into the seat at the beginning of the day and then poured him back out at quitting time.

I think it was the sheer breadth of this man that scared Sam, not the Jerry Garcia hair, beard, and glasses.

In any event, Santa suggested that Vicki and I sit on either side of him to make Samson feel more comfortable and allow for the picture to be taken. And here I have to say that in a side-by-side comparison, the patience of shopping mall Santas would make Job seem like a whiner. [There's a sociology dissertation in that topic somewhere, I just know it.]

Now, I'll be honest, I like having my picture taken less than some South American Indian tribes, but I duly sat by Santa's side, and we got our photo. This is not, I should add, an act worthy of praise or admiration. I didn't see the terror in young Samson's eyes and decide to fix things by sitting in on the little photo shoot. Nothing of the kind: I did it because Vicki threatened me, and I'm afraid of her.

The photo actually came out pretty well, although if you look closely, behind Samson's smile is the tiniest hint of unease. Sort of like the look on schoolkids' faces when Gov. Schwarzenegger visits their class.

At least the evening ended on a positive note: We looked at the massive train set that was set up in the middle of the mall [and successfully dodged an onslaught of Hannas, Caitlyns, Conors, and Joshes, who were all three times Samson's size and racing for the toy train with the same intensity as morning commuters] and then picked up some chicken and fried yucca for dinner on the way home.

Any day that ends with yucca is a good day in my book.