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 shook as we laughed. I didn't think to lay a finger aside of his nose as up the elevator we rose to the sixth floor, but we got there anyway.
So I'm beginning to think it is either time for us to get some color for our white as snow coiffures, or to get our round little bellies gone with that treadmill in the loft.
What's to dread, though? It's only one month of the year. I'm leaning toward just shopping for a sleigh, getting some warm, red, fur outfits and taking this show on the road. That would surely be easier than losing weight and coloring our white locks, AND you get to eat cookies.
Springing to the sleigh will probably be the toughest part.