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“Santa doesn’t give a shit. His nose is cold, his thighs ache from their position in the sleigh, he wants only to get home to Mrs. Claus, who has roast beef and baked potatoes waiting. When he arrives, Mrs. Claus may greet him warmly and dine with him. She may ask about his day; she may have his slippers waiting.

Or maybe Mrs. Claus will choose today to find religion, in which case there will be no dinner, and perhaps Santa will need to go back out in the snow to the Wendy’s drive-thru after fielding a series of questions and accusations about his contribution to the spirit of mall commercialism that permeates this most sacred of holidays.

Or she may have become a raging feminist. She may want to be Ms. Claus, or even to return to her maiden name – an expensive and time-consuming legal process – and how will he ever explain the change to their friends, much less all the businesses that capitalize on the popularity of the icon of sweet Mrs. Claus. And the children, my God, the children. The children would never understand.”

– Rachel Haley Himmelheber


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