Santa's new rig (aka Entertaining mythical non-entities and transients)

I've put some thought into entertaining Santa this year.

This began innocently enough, with my Daughter remarking on the lit fireplace, "Be careful! You're going to burn Santa's boots!" Right on, Kid, it wouldn't hurt to light a fire under his ass.

Look, if everything said about the elf is true: He's no gentleman. I think he is the kind of guy who leaves the seat up and chews with his mouth open. I know this because one year when I was little, I suspect he did both those things judging by the trail of evidence in the house. These habits being altogether otherwordly in my Mother's mannerly kingdom, I think you'll agree, there remains no way I was wrong about the guy: He's a mess.

Further to my theory: One year he left the Barbie Dream House unassembled. He knew very well I could not follow an eight page manual partially written in French. I mean, really, guy?

Finally, he's no saint; keeps a reindeer up all night slogging all over creation in a blinding snowstorm and apparently is useless with operation of the front door.

Now, you remember last year around here, of course. The whole thing right and orderly: Jolly Old comes - chimney, what have you and then - cookie - good, scribble a little note, throw some gifts everywhere - then beat it next door.

And thank you very much.

But this house is full of girls. The women here, beginning with the one most closely in touch with the elf, feel he needs an image adjustment - er, correction perhaps. Firstly, without casting further aspirsions on Santa, we are not agreed he is a boy. We like to think he is above gender.

But if not, he is most likely a she and has refined taste in the boots that whoosh down the chimney; they are no one's buckled fire boots.

Secondly, Santa loves a note. Also, design-related books and scented glossy mags and could use a break to just kick back and flip through a few pages, you know? So, if you don't mind, could she have a bit of reading materials along with only a glass of water (she's not much of a milk drinker and she's driving). I think you note her car key here; of Scandinavian make for speed and turns in frigid cold. She doesn't believe in reindeer abuse; the modern sled has all wheel drive and Rudolph, always in shot-gun, is one hell of a navigator.

It has long been suspected that Rudolph carries the alias Pumpkin on any day but Christmas and is, in truth, a bit too porky to be alighting skyward between snowflakes.

Finally, that last myth with regards to the man: Santa has pretty thick skin but I'd be careful with the term right jolly old elf if you want anything out of the chimney arrangement this year.

Because, jolly might be pushing the issue when toys with a million pieces are involved. Maybe this elf sees a little devilish charm in this once-nightly festival of big wheels and dream houses. But jolly might be a misnomer of epic proportions. Safe to say at least, Santa can laugh at the consumer crisis that is Christmas still and the inexplicable line at Brookstone. Certainly Santa keeps amused, if not jolly.

And I don't know who you're calling old. But I assure you, Santa is not.