Goody
Clause and the Christmas Purpose
Tippy, tippy,
tap. Little elven feet exploded on tabletops, whirling and twirling to the
rhythm of a tambourine. Weekend dads posed with their kids as reporters clicked
cameras. The North Pole was busy this time of year. Mrs. Clause – Goody to her
friends - smiled for a quick shot and then excused herself to ‘bake cookies’.
Inside the
office, Goody kicked off her shoes and slid out of her Spanx. She surveyed the
room. Even in this sanctuary toys were stacked ceiling high. She reached for a
cookie, thought better of it, and turned away. Even her Spanx needed Spanx. A
growling noise caught her attention and she turned to see her husband sleeping
in his favorite chair, a concerned wrinkle across his brow. “Poor dear,” she
said, covering him and kissing his cheek. With only two weeks till Christmas he
had been putting in long hours, and it was beginning to show.
Goody sighed,
remembering simpler times. Dolls for
girls. Trains for boys. Coal for the
naughty. Nowadays everyone wanted dolls that peed and trains that moved. And
Elves didn’t make batteries. Santa had to outsource that job to China.
And kids
today…one toy wasn’t enough…they had lists! And now with the population tipping
at seven billion… Goody furrowed her brow. She wasn’t good at mat, but she knew
there were not enough elves in the Arctic to accommodate that load.
“That’s it,” she
said, flopping into the computer chair. “I wash my hands of this. Santa’s
exhausted and I’m fat. We’re moving to Belize.” Goody flipped on her husband’s
computer and fantasized about her new life. She had spent the last 200 years
baking, smiling, and feeding reindeer. Maybe now she could work out, play Bunco,
and watch Oprah. She could find her purpose.
She was googling
‘things to do in Belize’ when an odd blinking light appeared in the corner of
her monitor. Alarmed that she had broken something, she almost roused Santa.
Then she noticed it was a message. A magic, coded message!
Dear Santa,
I no u r buzy but can I plz have a doll for xmas.
I need some1 to luv me.
Mary Dryer
Goody shook her
head as an image of Mary Dryer popped into her memory. A dark-haired beauty
with large eyes. A child who wanted just one doll for Christmas. Goody groaned as
Google summoned up pictures of a Belizean beach.
“Well, darn it,”
she said, rolling the chair to the doll shelf across the room. She searched until
she found the perfect one: a cuddly darling that didn’t pee. “You will be well loved,” she said, giving
the doll a kiss and sending it to the sleigh.
Goody watched as
100 linking lights filled the monitor.
Santa yawned.
“Good nap. Anything interesting happen while I was out?”
“Yes. You got
yourself a new assistant.”
“I did? Who?”
Goody stood,
dusting crumbs from her gown. “Why, me of course. I just found my purpose.”
April Aasheim maintains an active blog and is the writer of The Witches of Dark Root
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