I have a confession to make.
We have a dancing, singing Santa Claus in our house. He is about five feet tall, and he has one of those flapping lips (you know, the kind that makes me want to break glass. Oh, you didn't know? Well, now you do. Isn't it wonderful, learning new things?).
When he sings, he swings his hips side to side and his arms flap back and forth (like he's trying to feel you up - I swear the thing has done it to me before. Do. not. like.).
He has beady eyes and a flat head.
And I want to drop-kick him.
Every time he is set up - that first time I see him, standing all smug in the corner, thinking he's loved by all - I want to drop-kick him right in his sassy face.
I don't like Santa Claus. Mostly because I don't like all the hype and the lies and the blagh* about Santa Claus. That 5' hip-swinging, lip-flapping dummy in the corner represents pretty much everything I dislike about the Christmas season - consumerism, lies, the "reason" for being "good"...one of these days I might not be able to stop myself.
Horrified bystanders will watch with shock as I pwn that sucker.
* in other words, stuff that makes my brain tired, sore, and angry.