See, boys who took a Latin final this morning and absolutely are not reading my blog, see? There’s a difference between the ablative and the dative. In the ablative, the post would be the title of a beloved Christmas poem, but in the dative, it’s a description of how I spent my afternoon.
Anyway, this afternoon Margaret and Ellie and I went to a snooty mall in the area to meet friends and have pictures taken with Santa. I came to the conclusion that it was an exceptionally nice mall to do Christmas shopping at – there was ample parking in the garage, it wasn’t crowded, it had nice soothing lighting – except for the slight hitch that I couldn’t really afford anything there. Anyway, we didn’t have a long wait at all, and we got pictures.
As we approached the Santa staging area, it got so that we could see people* who were sitting with Santa, as well as the man in the big red suit himself. And I began to worry, because all the babies that I saw sit on his lap immediately burst into tears. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Ellie would have this problem, but it seems that there is some magical anti-child aura around him.
Our friends got there. Magical screaming baby.
Nervously, we stepped up. I put Margaret on his knee, and then Ellie. I crossed my fingers.
Apparently Ellie is immune to Santa-related screaming, which is nice. Although I had a really great blog post planned out for the screaming kid with Santa picture. Humph.
Also, they’re starting to look more alike.
*You would wish that we could say kids, but there were some adults posing with Santa.
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