Santa shoved the last rectangular gift box into the big red bag he carried as the front door to the living room opened.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HAROLD?!!" Betty Emerson had come home from a long day of fighting the lines at the mall shopping for Christmas gifts for a get together with family and friends. She walked into her modest home to find her husband violently stuffing all the gifts under the tree into a garbage bag.
"ASK YOUR FUCKING SON BETTY; HE GOT SUSPENDED AGAIN!!" Harold had enough of the pudgy, trouble-prone kid sometimes even doubting if the boy was biologically his. The boy had his father's blond hair and that was it with everything else stuffed into an overweight, brooding package.
"WHAT?!!"
"THAT FUCKING KID'S A PERVERT; HE WAS CAUGHT WITH VIDEOS OF UPSKIRTS ON SOME OF HIS CLASSMATES-HE'S BEEN EXPELLED!!" Her heart jumped into her throat as she watched her husband sling the bag over his shoulder. She remembered that he'd been finagled into playing Santa for his company office party.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm getting rid of these fucking toys because he doesn't deserve any of them; maybe I'll take them down to a homeless shelter and give them to some orphans." Betty grabbed his shoulders shaking the portly man like a woman possessed.
"ARE YOU CRAZY; YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY I SPENT ON THAT SHIT?!!" Harry had enough of his wife's coddling of their son and was intent on teaching the spoiled boy a lesson.
"HE DOESN'T DESERVE ANYTHING; HE'S A DICK!"
"BUT I PAID GOOD MONEY FOR THAT STUFF HAROLD!!" He stopped in his tracks to take a good look at his wife of seventeen odd years. Betty Emerson was the visual epitome of a suburban housewife from the top of her blonde pixie cut to the sensible shoes on her manicured feet. She wore a thick pair of wire frame granny glasses on her circular face that made her appear older than her thirty-four years. Over the years Betty had shied away from regular gym visits earning herself a dumpy, slightly pearish shape. He always loved her huge 36 DD's making it a point to fuck and jizz all over them on a regular basis until Betty had threatened him with marriage counseling for his deviant urges. The couple were lucky if they even had sex once a week. Things had tapered off as she'd lost herself in the mundane idiosyncrasies of everyday life as a housewife and mother of two. Their college age daughter had already begged off family activities in favor of a snowboarding vacation with her boyfriend Mike.
"This is not what Christmas is supposed to be Betty; it's supposed to be about love and family. Our son Chris takes everything for granted from the clothes on his back to the food that he eats. What are we teaching him if we let him have these undeserved gifts?" He spoke from the heart for the first time in years not sure where his emotion was stemming from.
"I'll talk to him and maybe; ground him for the weekend; just put the stuff back under the tree. Don't ruin Christmas Harold."
"IT'S NOT CHRISTMAS; IT'S JUST A BUNCH OF SHIT!"
"FUCK YOU HAROLD!!" She really hadn't meant to curse but he was disturbing her image of what the holiday should be. Betty had always made sure that the house looked perfect on Christmas and here was her husband threatening the status quo with some pretentious reason. Betty never told anyone of the "less than perfect" holidays ruined by her alcoholic father. Sometimes he'd get so toasted that he didn't know who or where he was. This had resulted in an unfortunate incident that few outside of her immediate family were aware.
"You know Betty, I wish you'd fuck me sometimes but you're too busy obsessing over meaningless commercial bullshit. I'll see you later."
"Harold if you take those gifts out of this house it'll be a cold day in hell before you get some of this!" She placed her hands under her large breasts bouncing them for emphasis.
"Promises, promises." He slammed the door as he left dragging the large sack down the snow covered steps leaving her to stare at her barren Christmas tree. It looked truly naked with the foot of gifts that circled it formerly. Moments later her troublesome son lumbered down the stairs dragging a large sleigh behind him and ripping up the red carpeting she'd draped along the stairs.
"Mom, I'm going sledding with some of the fellas to clear my head; dad really embarrassed me at school today!" The cumbersome preteen knocked a flower arrangement off of a table at the bottom of the stairs
"CHRISTIAN!!"
"Sorry mom; you shouldn't have put all this shit on the stairs anyhow."
"But that's where we put the milk and saucer of cookies for Santa." Betty had followed her own borderline psychotic protocol for years following some unseen rule book as she over decorated her home.
"Mom, there's no such thing as fucking Santa Claus geez." He face-palmed as she feverishly righted the table arrangement.
"Language mister or you're going into time out!" He chuckled as he peered into the living room.
"HOLY SHIT; WE'VE BEEN ROBBED!!" The pudgy little fellow bolted into the living room staring in horror at the empty space under the tree before bolting down the hall to the kitchen and snatching the phone off the wall. He would have called the police if not for his mother yanking the receiver out of his grasp.
"Your father took all of the gifts Christian."
"WHY?!!"
"Because you got in trouble at school and he wanted to "Teach you a Lesson" about being naughty." Betty always mocked her husband's voice when he wasn't around. She preferred the friend approach to parenting with predictable and disastrous results.
"WHY'D YOU LET HIM DO THAT SHIT MOM?!! IT'S FUCKING CHRISTMAS!!" The bawling teen was already sloppily chomping on a pile of gingerbread men that were cooling on a cookie sheet. The sight of her dumpy, spoiled child's despair tugged at her heartstrings.
"Everything's going to be okay son; don't you worry about a thing." She tried to reassure her child who'd removed a carton of eggnog from the fridge which he chugged until he coughed. He had this sort of annoying, bleating cry that made any sane person want to scratch their eyes out.
"Did he take my Play Station Gold-Special Edition?"
"Well; yeah son..."
"OOOOOOHHHH SHIT THAT'S FUCKED UP MOM; THAT'S A COMPLETE AND TOTAL DICK MOVE!!" Christian punctuated his outcry by spiking the carton on the linoleum floor. He went full blown tantrum knocking some of the cookies and other entrees around on the counter before repeatedly slamming the cabinet doors.
"CALM DOWN BABY; I'LL FIX IT I PROMISE!!" At this point he sounded as if he were hyperventilating and slowly faux-collapsed to the floor into a pathetic whimpering mass.
"MOOOOMMMY, DADDY HATES ME!!" Betty knelt on the cookie littered linoleum floor cradling her son in her arms smashing his circular head between her huge boobs. His entire face was reddened and glistening with tears.
"No he doesn't; he loves you very much." She kissed his cheek and forehead tasting his salty sweat and tears.
"BUT HE TOOK MY STUFF MOMMY; HE WANTS ME TO DIE ON CHRISTMAS!!" Christian had manufactured a distressed, forlorn look on his face designed for maximum emotional manipulation.