In the midst of the relentless media storm that is the Rob Ford saga, there have actually been a few moments in my life that have served to remind me of the value of a good laugh.
The days have grown shorter as Old Man Winter strengthens his hold on Niagara and so many guest’s thoughts have turned to the “Big C” – and I don’t mean cancer.
“I imagine it gets pretty quiet around here at Christmas, right?” my latest foreign acquaintance inquired. He was a newly-arrived resident of the Great White North, having just emigrated from the Middle East and his children were looking forward to their first holiday season in their new home. His eight-year-old son was particularly, shall we say, energetic?
Truth be told, the little rugrat was literally bouncing off the walls with anticipation.
“What’s Santa like?” Just like a foreigner, assuming we all know each other.
“Well,” I began, fully prepared to take full advantage of the diminutive booger eater’s naïveté, “Everything you need to know has been fully documented already in the song.”
Of course, his entire family had no idea just what I was talking about and so I found myself explaining the most famous Christmas lyrics of all time, making sure to spotlight a specific verse.
He sees you when you´re sleeping,
and he knows when you´re awake.
He knows if you’ve been bad or good,
so be good for goodness sake.
The young man’s eyes grew wide, like he had just swallowed a bottle of hot sauce – or seen Kim Kardashian without make-up.
“HE CAN SEE ME SLEEPING? OR ANY TIME HE WANTS? IS HE OBAMA?”
“It’s the perfect cover.” I replied in my best deadpan tone.
The true spirit of Christmas is subjective, kids. For me, it’s all about being a dick.