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December 26, 2011

A Holiday Classic from My Family to Yours


December 24
Dear Diary,
Tonight, I was so excited about opening my Christmas presents that I decided to sneak downstairs to see if Santa had come down the chimney yet. I slowly crawled out of bed and quietly crept down the staircase, trying my best not to wake my parents. I will never forget what I saw after that.
With my own eyes, I silently watched on while my mother kissed Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe. Red lipstick smacked and slurped against white beard for what seemed like an eternity. I’m still horrified. The woman who gave birth to me is nothing but a lying whore. She didn’t even have the decency to cheat on my dad in a cheap hotel or while he was away for business. She committed mouth adultery with a so-called saint on a Christian holiday no less. I mean, why leave milk and cookies out for the guy when he can just have my mom instead? 
How can I go on, knowing that my mother is a tramp and Saint Nick gets his jollies with someone other than Mrs. Claus? Is nothing sacred anymore? Can I even accept gifts from a home wrecker? I don’t know what to do. I'm scared and confused. My poor father is being played for a fool, and I’m stuck in the middle of an extramarital affair. I need some eggnog. Maybe then I could forget this pain.
December 25
Dear Diary,
            I woke up and opened my presents this morning, but nothing’s the same anymore. Our entire family is living a lie. I almost cried today when my naive dad put his arm around my slutty mom’s shoulder. I feel like I should tell him what I saw last night, but I know it would absolutely devastate him. Then my “mom” kisses Dad on the cheek. What a conniving vulture. She is a stranger to me. Now I sit in my room, alone, with my new toys. I can’t play with anything now that the fate of an entire marriage rests solely in my hands.
December 29
Dear Diary,
            Today, my sleazy mother took me to church. I guess with all of the sinning she does at home, she needs to repent on the weekends. Today’s service was about honesty. I appreciate the irony. After hearing the pastor describe Hell, I decided to tell my father what I had seen on Christmas Eve. He deserves to know the truth. I thought about confronting my mom, but she is a lost cause. I can hardly look at her filthy mouth without reliving the entire incident. She disgusts me.
December 30
Dear Diary,
            Today, while my mom was out buying groceries, I sat my dad down and told him the whole story. At first he thought I was kidding, but I reassured him that I had personally witnessed Mom have an affair with a strange man in our house. I didn’t name Santa Claus directly, just because I still want to get presents next year. I imagine he doesn't deliver to snitches.
            When my mom came back from the store, Dad sent me to my room. I listened from the top of the stairs as he punched a hole through the kitchen wall and threw the house phone at my mother’s head. He called her some horrible names, most of which she deserved. Apparently, my dad thought she was sleeping with some guy at her office named Gary. I felt like I should correct his assumption, but who am I to say my mom didn’t sleep with anyone and everyone at her office named Gary? By the end of the argument, both of my parents were sobbing heavily.
January 4
Dear Diary,
            My dad is still living at the Motel 6. No idea whether he’s found out about the Santa fling or not.
January 11
Dear Diary,
            After the divorce papers were signed, my mom drove the two of us back home. Her fake crying almost made me feel sorry for her. When we got to the house, she started taking the Christmas decorations down. That’s when I asked her the question that I knew would stump her - a question that would let her know that I knew everything.
“Why didn’t Santa reply to my letter this year? Was he too busy with someone else?” I casually asked. That’s when my mom revealed yet another lie she's been living for years. She said that Santa Claus isn’t real. He was a sham that my parents tricked me into believing from birth. My mom said that most fourteen-year-old boys "don't believe in Santa anymore” and I should have “outgrown letters to Santa years ago.” Once again I am left with so many unanswered questions. In a few short days, my entire concept of reality has been shattered forever. I quickly begin rethinking everything my parents have ever told me: Does it really hurt my eyes when I stand close to the TV? Do babies really come from vaginas? Is there a god?
January 20
Dear Diary,
            I had to help Gary move his things into our guest bedroom today. He seems completely oblivious to my mother’s promiscuity. He’s just another innocent man for my mom to take advantage of. He says I don’t have to call him “Dad” if I’m uncomfortable with it. Part of me wants to ask my mom if I should call Santa “Dad” or not. Oh wait, Santa doesn’t exist – she was just lying to me as usual. I hope she pays my therapy bills when I grow up to be emotionally damaged.
January 29
Dear Diary,
            I still don’t get it. If there really is no Santa Claus, and my mom was telling the truth for once, then who the hell was she frenching on Christmas Eve? I guess I can ask my dad about it when I get to visit him for Easter weekend. Let’s just hope I don’t walk in on him dry humping the Easter bunny. After this whole Santa ordeal, that giant rabbit is all I have left.