I seemed hard put to find a normal Santa anywhere this Christmas season. A sign of the times I suppose, and a reminder that really, there is no ‘normal’.
Florida Santa. I don’t know what this Santa does when you squeeze his hand but they had to keep him behind the counter at the thrift store. Just sayin’.
Mar-a-Lago Santa. Really? Santa in gold? Flying off with your Christmas balls? Someone must have spiked the eggnog.
Fancy Pants Card Shark Santa. Would you call Santa’s bluff? Or perhaps this is his Santa’s twin brother, Sinta?
Squat Little Santa. Santa took a little break as soon as he reached the tree line. To stretch his legs.
Rockin’ Santa. This Santa is rocking a great big beard. Literally.
Troll Santa. Remember that year that Baby New Year got mixed up and grew into Father Christmas instead of Father Time? Someone must have spiked the Similac.
Mr. and Mr. Claus. Lounging.
Rubber Ducky Santa. This little fella couldn’t decide whether to be a Santa or a reindeer. When in doubt, be both!
No Spot To Land A Reindeer Santa. Dedicated to my friends who are the children of lightkeepers. Just giving you a heads up; he appears to be frozen in.
Rootin’ Tootin’ Santa. Ridin’ in from Santa Fe. Not on a sleigh. Not even haulin’ a sleigh. And he’s packin’. Packin’ yer stockin’ with goodies, that is.
The Best Santa. He’s my favourite because instead of bringing gifts he just brings his little whisk broom to clean my house.
© Judy Parsons 2021