'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house my husband continued to grumble and grouse. The stockings were hung over the back of the couch in hopes that St. Nicholas would visit this grouch. The kids had all flopped in various places with greedy dreams evident on their faces. With Hubby in the buff and I in my gown we wrapped the last gift and went to lie down. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I made Hubby get up to see what was the matter. Away to the window he flew like a flasher, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. Er ... (Forgetting that while he sleeps in the nude, neighbors might possibly think it is rude.) The moon on the swell of his bare butt had them all saying "Who is this nut?" When, what to our wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, with a little old driver, so lively and quick, we knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. And then, in a twinkling, we heard overhead a soft, padded footstep, a familiar tread. "I don't hear hooves, or boots" said my hubby. "You'd think you would, with a person that chubby." We snuck to the parlor to check out the loot no wonder he was quiet --Santa was barefoot. In fact, the feet weren't all that was bare. The famous red suit, it seems, was no longer there. His curling white beard tumbled down to his boys and apparently tickled, he made such a noise. His eyes -- how they twinkled! His dimples how cute! (We never saw THOSE before he took off his suit!) His cheeks were like roses, both sets plump and round, the white beneath his tummy the only tan line around. He dropped off our gifts and a slipped us a wink and said "These are all you need this year, I think." A bundle of toys he had flung off his back: sunscreen and new towels and flip-flops of black. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a shout, "I'm off to Jamaica where the sun is out! And the beaches are white as this forsaken snow and it's 80 above, not 20 below. Where there's always a Mai Tai just within reach, and spend my vacation at my favorite nude beach." "So Santa's a nudist," I said to my guy. "He's always so jolly (and now we know why). Reprinted with permission from The Bulletin. |