Thanks For Nothing, Santa

So, here's my thing: I have no issues with Santa. He's cute and fat and jolly and if he calls me a "ho" a lot and eats all my cookies and milk and steals carrots for his reindeeer, at least he leaves presents in return. I'm fine with him. He's fine with me. It's all good.

However.

When, in the course of his travels on Christmas Eve, Santa picks up hitchhikers and allows them access to our home, my goodwill towards men starts to be tested. Because while the give and take we have established with Santa is a positive one and leaves us both feeling as though we have benefited, the opposite is true of my experiences with his fellow travelers, the Stomach Flu Fairy and the Common Cold Angel.

Everyone in the house received an extra special gift from one of those two guys. I was gifted with a visit from both of them. And let me just say that it's bad enough trying to keep your stomach from turning inside out without any outside influence, but when your Turtle wakes up in the middle of the night, having puked all over his bed and you have to clean it up? It's that much worse.

So next year? When Turtle writes his letter to Santa? I will be sure to put in a post-script reminding him that while he is certainly welcome and we don't mind if he brings his reindeer in for a breather, we'd rather he didn't let anyone else in the house without running it by us first.