Yes My Friend, There Is A Santa Claus

By Bill Yanger

Another in a continuing series of imagined conversations over coffee at Ginny & Jane E’s. Any resemblance to persons or personalities, real or imagined, is entirely coincidental and mostly unintended.

Morning.

Hey, good morning my best friend ever!

That’s a turn around…last week I was a cheater…best friend ever now?

Of course! Greatest guy in the world. You’re like a brother.

Where’s all this coming from?

It’s almost Christmas man. Just letting you know how much I appreciate you. Here’s your coffee. Three sugars, heavy cream, right.
Yeah, thanks…and…uh…I…appreciate you too. What is that?

This?
Yeah, that.

Oh, this is just a little list.
What kinda list?

Christmas list.

A gift list?

Yeah.
Going shopping today?

No.
So why the list?

It’s my list…what I want for Christmas.
Wait, does that say “Dear Santa” at the top?

…n-n-no…

Yes it does. Let me see…

Does not. Leave it…

Got it. Hah! It DOES say Dear Santa! “Dear Santa, I hope you had a good year. Here is my list as usual. You ate all the peanut butter cookies last year so I think I’ll leave you those again. Drive safe…” Is this a joke?

No. A tradition.

A tradition. Got it.

Yeah, you know, every year…do the same thing…makes it feel like Christmas.
…Uh-huh…you write to Santa…do you leave your dentures under your pillow, too? Hunt for easter eggs with your own little basket?

You’re a laugh riot.

So let’s see what you want this year…

C’mon, give it back.
Socks. Socks is at the top of your list?

Yeah, socks. So?

You have four pairs of flip flops and those nasty old boat shoes with the paint spots. You live a block from the beach. You haven’t worn socks since that No-Name storm in ’93 flooded your closet and soaked your loafers.

I hated those loafers. Good riddance.
But you still want socks.

I ask for them every year. He never brings them.
He. Santa?

Yeah Santa. Who else would “he” be?
Right, of course. Who else…OOO-kay … Let’s see, the list…A yoga mat? Yoga?

Yes, yoga. At the Community Center. Lotsa ladies, if you know what I mean.
My friend, you can’t see your toes much less touch them. Quite the chick magnet.

See there? Your karma is sooo negative. You should come with me. I went yesterday. It was life changing.
Life changing? Changing your Depends after a yoga class, maybe, but your life?

Hah hah. Make fun, as usual. You’ll see. A few more yoga classes and I will be able to watch a City Commission meeting without my blood pressure banging in my ears like the chairman’s gavel.
You’ll need to move to a yoga ashram in the mountains of India to settle your blood pressure with this Commission. And remember there’s another election around the corner for that one lady’s seat and for the Mayor. That lawyer, you know, the predictable one? His seat’s up too. July 4th won’t be the only fireworks next summer.

I’ll take a commission meeting any day over watching that new parking safety committee. They oughta use the Island Players place for their meetings…all that overwrought melodrama.
More like male-o-drama…as usual, the ladies were all too smart to get caught up in that mess. Oy…maybe I should consider a yoga class. Probably see those PAR guys there with their editor and their newly anointed P&Z pal too…all chasing a little good karma. Hey, you ever see that commissioner, the pool maintenance guy, at yoga?

Never, why?
Eh, nothing. Just think he must’ve still been in some kinda tantric trance when he voted on the new P&Z seat the other night.

Dunno. Coulda been. Read the next one.
What?

Read the next one on my list.
Two Super Bowl tickets.

Yeah, that’s my biggy.
I’d say. Good luck with that one…uh…why are you giggling?

It’s in Miami this year. Beaches, bikinis, Pina Coladas…
That cute bartender at Hank’s, she makes great Pina Coladas…er…so I hear…and we have beaches and bikinis right here…so I’m told…

But we don’t have the Super Bowl right here.
I thought your wife hates football.

She does. Won’t watch it. Hates it when I do. That’s why I come to your house…to share America’s game with someone who has a refined appreciation for the nuances of the sport and a deep respect for the parallels to our society as a whole.
You come to my house to drink my beer.

And to drink your beer, yes.
So why would you…uh … ask Santa for two tickets if the wife won’t go?

I’m taking my best friend, of course.
Of course you are. And that would be…

You, remember?
Me. Yes, how could I forget.

You’ll go right?

Ohhhh, absolutely! I’ll pack tomorrow. Warm up the Lear Jet. A suite at the Fountainbleu. Call George Clooney and Brad Pitt and have them meet us at South Beach. Make it a boy’s weekend.

No really. You’ll go right?
One little detail.

Yeah?

Dude, hell-OH? Anybody home? You’re older than dirt and writing letters to Santa Claus for godsake. There IS…NO... Santa Claus!

Maybe…but if so…then where’d these come from?
What are those?

Two Super Bowl tickets genius.
What the…

Yep. Two. You and me. Fifty yard line. Miami, my brother.
But how? You could buy a car for…

Ehh, don’t worry about it. Don’t need a car. I know a guy who knows a guy. Besides you’re worth it. Best friend ever and all.
W-w-what can I say?

I dunno…say you’ll go to yoga with me.
Yoga? Uhhh…

Miami Beach.

Yoga.

Fifty yard line.

I love yoga.

And say you believe in Santa Claus.
That’s an easy one.

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas brother. And a Merry Christmas to all of our Anna Maria friends, right?

Of course. Give me a hug.
Here? In front of all of them? Awk--ward.

Uh, sport's biggest spectacle? Hot latin nights? Cuban coffee and toast in the morning? MY... AM...EE?
Right. A hug … Okay …umm…There you go. You’re just a big old goof, you know that?

See you tomorrow.

Yeah, tomorrow.



© 2009 – William L. Yanger