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By Julie Grenness

It was the magic of Christmas. The year had rolled around to Christmas Eve. The stars were already shining in the midnight blue sky as I set foot over my threshold to visit my neighbors for a Christmas drink. I had a card and a simple gift. The gift was always in the giving at this festive time of year.

Suddenly, a whooshing roar. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Get her, Donner and Blitzen!” I stepped back, “What?” A large sleigh swooped past, flying low, with macabre reindeer aiming to spear me with their crazy antlers. I dodged back into the house, still as a mouse.

More noise. Blue lights and sirens from a zillion copper choppers chasing Santa. Surreal!

“Come back here, Santa!” yelled a copper. "You’re drunk and disorderly. We want you for culpable driving. Should you be flying tonight? How much eggnog have you had to drink?”

Surreal Santa zoomed away into the starlit sky. ‘Twas the magic of Christmas, for the police never caught him. A letter fluttered through my door’s letter box addressed to me with the label, “Santa’s Survivor Baggage.” I trembled, as a twisted Christmas carol began to play, “Grandma got run over by a reindeer…” Scary, but Boomer babes like me were now the same age as sweet little Grandma when the reindeer got her.

I sat down to read all about Santa’s survivor baggage. Santa was married to Mrs. Mary, (now Merry) Christmas. Santa was a bit of a womanizer. After each Christmas night, he spent his happy hours visiting all the girls who were not so "good." Nine months later they were in the maternity unit. Naughty little elves were born, so their bad girl mums sent them all to the North Pole. Mrs. Santa had to feed, clothe and educate all Santa’s love children.

Mrs. Merry Christmas was an older lady. One day she had a hissy fit and sent every one of those love children to a boarding school. She packed all Father Christmas’s jolly, giant, red suits into a bulging suitcase and popped his "survivor baggage" on the front doorstep. Santa had to find someone else to wash his socks and jocks and cook his banquets.

This wise, older, not so motherly Mrs. Christmas sent Santa the bills for child support and school fees, and received a stipend from the Divorce Court. The magistrates were all women, who had survived cheaters like Santa.

Santa took off, swiping all the eggnog and getting totally inebriated with his fur friends, the reindeer. Santa vowed to run over every sweet, little old lady on planet Earth. Drunken old Santa was not much of role model for young children. He was teaching them to turn to alcohol dependency to solve life’s issues. All part of his survivor's baggage.

With peace at the North Pole, Mrs. Claus sat down with the Christmas fairy to discuss self-determination for women. The police gave up and floated away. I abandoned visiting hours next door, went to bed and hid under the blanket.

Surreal, Santa. Quite surreal.

— Julie Grenness

Julie Grenness is a poet and writer in Australia. She’s a former teacher who now tutors and mentors young people.