perfection

Step lightly around Himself today.

He got a message on his cellphone yesterday from the director of the band we sometimes play with. The annual Christmas concert was last night, and they were in desperate need of a Santa.

“You’d be perfect!” said the message.

He WOULD be perfect. He’s a large, tall man, with gorgeous, sparkling, KIND, big, blue eyes. Frameless rectangular glasses. A greying beard. I warmed to the idea. If he started growing his beard out NOW, he wouldn’t even NEED to wear a fake one next Christmas.

However, Himself is having none of it.

“Perfect? Perfect?! Because I’m old, fat and bald?!?!”

“Think of the CHILDREN”, I beg.

“Old. Fat. AND bald.” he grumbles.

He is NOT amused.

I, however, am planning a lucrative second career for him.

It is a small step from fairy godmother to Mrs. Claus. πŸ™‚

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3 thoughts on “perfection

  1. While himself may have been uncomfortable, he brought joy and comfort to others. It was a “mitzvah.”

    As the big guy (SC) himself once said on one cold and snowy Christmas eve, “On Donner, On Blitzen, On Mitzvah.”

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