Mr. Claus? Mrs. Claus? 'Tis the season. Visions of sugar plums, hopes of glimpses of that jolly old elf...that's what's going on. Last year in December, someone mentioned in passing that my husband and I looked like Mr. and Mrs. Claus. And this year, this week, out of the blue, on Monday, we were at our local Starbucks, and the staff exclaimed, "Here come Mr. and Mrs. Claus!" as we entered the shop. I do not know these people. They are not welcome to sit on my lap, nor my husband's. No one but me is going to sit on my husband's lap...although that hasn't happened since the time he said he couldn't feel his feet. This morning we got on an elevator heading for the rooftop....well, the top floor, anyway. A woman was already on the elevator as we got on. We rode in silence to the fifth floor where the elevator stopped for her to get out. "Have a nice day, Mr. and Mrs. Claus!" she called back as the door closed. Our bellies sh