On this particular Christmas, my husband, being the oldest,
went first but instead of the regulation howls of delight, his shocked voice
called, “Jeth! What are you doing
there?!”
Continued:
Ever the traditionalist, I assured the kids that it was best
to stay in the hall awaiting their entry and I hurried into the room – it was
my turn, anyway.
There was Jeth, arms and legs firmly crossed, sitting in the
fireplace among the ashes and debris left-over from the previous night. He was a tad cold, it is a bit chilly in an
open, empty fireplace, and he was very dirty.
“Well,” he answered
my husband, as he looked at the two of us.
He clearly had no intention of moving.
“You took a long time and I’m just being sure.”
“Of what?” we asked.
“He could check the list and come back.”
We looked at each other, “What list? Who?
“Santa,” Jeth said, “The good list.”
It seems that given the time that he had been required to
wait, Jeth, who was very energetic,
today he would have been called hyperactive, had slipped into the livingroom and taken a quick peek.
Impressed with the array of gifts, he had suddenly been stricken with
the words from a popular Christmas song.
He realized that he had not been entirely nice all year and, in fact, was guilty of many naughty incidents.
Consequently he had placed himself on guard to fend off Santa should he check his list twice and find that a
grave error had occurred in the delivery of multiple gifts to Jethro Brogan.
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