He gently lowered his bulky, aging body into the beach chair and put his ice cold beer into the chair’s cupholder. His soft white feet stretched out before him, clad in tourist store flip-flops. The sun felt like warm honey all over his body as slowly the night’s work eased out of him. For the last few years this was where he finished up, Australia, on the beach with a beer.

The first year he did it he only stayed for an hour or so, just long enough to drink a beer at the beachside bar. The next year he just couldn’t resist taking his boots off and getting his tired old feet into the warm, scratchy sand. The year after that he bought a whole set of beach clothes, got a chair and some sunglasses, and spent hours baking the exhaustion and cold out of his bones. That was the year he made friends with Ruby the bartender. She was the only one who knew who he really was. She kept his beach stuff for him so he could change when he arrived. 

But even in his disguise, people had a hard time leaving him alone. He glanced to his left and saw a lovely young woman sunbathing on a towel. She looked over at him and smiled. He nodded pleasantly and then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. 

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but you look just like Santa Claus. You wouldn’t happen to be him, would you?” she asked with a mischievous little smile. 

He turned his head in her direction, lifted his sunglasses and squinted at her saying, “Why yes, Ginny, I am. And unless you want to end up on the Naughty List for the next ten years, I suggest you stop lying to your mother about Sunday dinners, stop sneaking off at lunch for quickies with your boss and stop stealing office supplies every time you get mad at him for being married.” Then he closed his eye and started to softly snore. 

The startled young woman jumped up, grabbed her stuff and ran off the each. Suddenly the old man felt a shadow over him and opened his eyes in irritation only to face Ruby from the bar. She looked irritated. 

“What?” he said defensively. 

“You did it again, didn’t you?” she said as she sat down in the sand next to him handing him his basket of fries.

“Well, they shouldn’t ask if they don’t want to know.”

“Ya know, Kris, nobody really wants Santa Claus to call them on their shit. They like you better as an idea than a reality, and I have to deal with the fall out everytime you do that little trick. So, knock it off or your wife is going to hear about your little ‘delay’ getting home and your ass will be ice cold North Pole toast. You get me?” 

Kris ignored her as he slowly chewed the delicious fried potatoes, licking salt and grease from his fingers. Ruby shook her head, laughing and said, “Wave when you’re ready for another beer.” She got up and walked back up the beach.