We pulled into a parking lot at the mall and son slowed down to let an amiable looking older gentleman cross the road.
He was heading to the mall doors.
He was carrying a red duffel bag (I think his coat and black belt and boots were in there!)
He was portly.
He had long white hair, bushy eyebrows, and a flowing beard.
His pants were 3/4 length (just the right length to tuck into black boots).
He smiled and looked really friendly. Grandfatherly. Approachable.
He nodded his head at us and winked , and it looked like he was saying, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” (okay, this one is an outright lie).
“Look, Tim, it’s Santa!” I sputtered.
“By golly, it is!”, he agreed. (Well, he might not have said those exact words, but the meaning was there). We watched, eyes wide and jaws dropped.
I hope he got a good look at us, performing the kind deed of stopping to let him cross the road. When he checks his list twice on Christmas Eve, I hope he’ll remember that we were not naughty, but extremely nice.
Then maybe I’ll get that iPhone I asked for! YESSSSS!
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