I stared into the mirror ignoring the knocks on the door. "Surely they couldn't make me do this!" I prayed, "this must be a joke."
"Colin, honey, you're going to be late, dad and I want to take your picture!" the voice called.
"Forget it mom!" I yelled, "I'm not doing this!"
"But I promised them you would! They need you!"
Maybe I don't look so bad; I lied to myself, and stole another look in the mirror. There was no getting around it; I looked like a total prat.
Here I was at 19 dressed like one of Santa's elves, green tights, pointy shoes, silly cap and all. For the 100th time I wished my mother ill for volunteering me to do this.
The pounding on the door took on a new timber, "Colin, get your skinny arse out of there and get down to the church, now!" my dad commanded.
With a heavy sigh I opened the door, my mom squealed with delight, "don't you look precious?" she smiled, raising the camera up and taking my picture. "Doesn't he look darling, George?"
"Yeah, he looks darling," my dad barely contained his mirth, "our own little Christmas faery!"
"I'm an elf." I grumbled, trying to hold on to some shred of dignity.
"Faery, elf, what's the difference?" my dad burst into laughter, and almost doubled up as tears ran from his eyes.
On the cold walk to the church I hoped my overcoat was long enough to cover the tights at the very least, but as I got to the steps a few of my school mates saw me and gave a wolf whistle, "Nice legs Colin!" one of them shouted, and they all hooted and one made a grab like he was going to pinch me.
The minister's wife scowled at me as I hung up my coat, "You're late! You were supposed to be here at half past."
"Bite me," I mumbled under my breath, "sod off bitch!"
I don't know if she heard me or not as just that moment the pastor grabbed my arm and propelled me to the meeting room that was done over as Santa's workshop. "All you need to do," he explained hurriedly, "is make sure the children don't go too nuts and help wrangle the wee ones that don't really want to be on Santa's lap."
There was another elf, a boy from my school that I had seen round but didn't know his name. He looked just as thrilled to be there as I was, we caught glances, and he quickly looked away, his face bright red.
There, on an armchair, decked in red velvet and gold ribbons, was Santa, I couldn't see who it was under all that beard and costume, but he had the voice down and the kids seemed to buy the ruse.
I managed to get through the night with only being bitten by one toddler, who I hoped wasn't total rabid, and kicked a handful of times and aside from a few kids who screamed in terror as I lifted them up to Santa's lap, almost deafening me, I felt I got out of the whole thing pretty easily.
As me and the other elf straightened things up, I wished I had brought regular clothes to change into, as the walk home would probably be just as embarrassing as the walk in had been. Especially as I had to pass the local on the way home, I was sure that the resident drunks would find me great sport.
Santa came back into the room, still in full costume, "either of you boys want a lift home?"
The other elf quickly declined.
"I'd like one, if you don't mind." I quickly answered, seeing a way out of the walk of shame home.
"Be out front in a few minutes, after you've changed," he said and started to leave.
"Um, I didn't bring clothes to change into," I admitted. Santa stopped and even through his beard I could see him grin.
"OK, come on then," he gestured and I followed him out to his car.
He opened the door for me and grabbed the ice scraper out of the boot, and cleared the windows as the car warmed up. After a few minutes he got back in, "What's your name, son?"
"Colin. You didn't have to stay in costume just because I'm in mine still, if you want to change I can wait," I offered. He didn't say anything to that. "By the way, what's your name?"
"Chris," he smiled, extending his hand, "Chris Cringle."
"Cute. No, seriously what's your real name?" I asked.
Again he didn't answer, concentrating instead on the road ahead. As we went straight past my house, I called out, "Hey, that's where I live!"
"I know," he said, "but I thought maybe you could use a drink after tonight's fun, I have some good scotch at my place." He stopped at the light, "you do drink don't you?"
I nodded, watching my house disappear in the rear-view mirror trying to act nonchalant about this turn of events. All I really wanted to do was go home, change into some jeans and a pullover and pretend the green tights never existed.
When we got to his flat he excused himself for a moment, gesturing for me to help myself to the fully stocked bar. I didn't know scotch from iced tea at that point so I just poured myself a glass of whatever was in the crystal decanter closest to me.
To my surprise he came out still dressed as Santa. The only thing he had done was removed his boots.
He poured himself a glass from the decanter too, sipped from it and sighed. I took a sip the burning sensation from the liquid made me almost choke. Up until then I had only had the occasional beer or cheap sweet wine.
