You know what? If I could ask the real Santa for one Christmas wish, I’d wish for new FRIENDS. Because mine really STINK!!!
I don’t even know where to start. Every time I try to write about it, my insides boil up and start to fizz over. I haven’t blown up yet, but if Sam apologizes even ONE more time, I will, I swear.
It was all in place. Every. Last. Detail.
I got dressed in that dumb Santa suit, right down to the high-heeled boots that made it hard to creep ANYWHERE without making a bunch of noise. And I turned my itchy wool sweater into a sack for carrying apples.
Then my friends came over so we could plan my route—you know, like which house to go to first. I asked my friends to pay up the emeralds they owed me, because I’d finally glued my piggy bank back together. And everyone KNOWS you don’t deliver goods until your customers pay up.
Well, that’s when the WHOLE thing fell apart.
Sam said that he’d been so busy pulling my sister around to school, he hadn’t really had time to babysit his brothers. So he didn’t QUITE have the eighteen emeralds he owed me.
Well, I said, NO problem. I’d take half now and half later. That’s the kind of friend I am.
And you know what he said? He said he didn’t have half. And when I got up in his face about it, he said he didn’t have ANY emeralds to pay me.
Then Ziggy said HE hadn’t been able to come up with the emeralds either. He moaned something about how hungry he’d been since his family gave up rotten flesh for the holidays. He said he MIGHT have spent all his emeralds in the school vending machine.
GREAT.
And Willow? Turns out, she never even TALKED to her friend with all the little sisters. “I thought you had enough business without me!” she said. Then she mumbled something about having to get home because she’d left a potion brewing and was afraid it would bubble over.
That means I have exactly ZERO emeralds coming my way for this Santa gig. And I’ve decided I have zero FRIENDS too.
So you know what I’m doing? I’m calling off Christmas. I can do that, you know. A creeper doesn’t work for free—not when he has presents to buy for his OWN family.
My 30-day plan just turned into a 7-day plan. I’m going to FORGET Christmas and focus on Creeper’s Eve.
From now on, it’s every mob for himself.
Ho, ho, ho . . .
