I am over at my friend's house getting ready for the girls night out that will precede Kathleen's wedding next weekend. Yes, it is the eve of the Stagette. (embarrassing pics to follow) I will tell you all about that later (it's a surprise and we wouldn't want Kat finding out about it here!).What I can tell you is - it will be funny. And we are not the Klassy types of girls that are going to force her to be subject to dancing naked men that would surely make all of us laugh/spew and wish we hadn't gone. Nope - there will be none of that. But anyways...

While I was getting ready, my friend Carrie from Ontario pulled out the most recent addition to her Christmas village. It is this quaint little scene with a Santa and children getting their pictures taken with him. It hearkened me back to a time (did I just make up that phrase?) when I was somehow convinced in highschool to volunteer my services at the local city Santa sitting where every little child in the story book town I grew up in would run to the old City Hall and get their moment with the big guy. Resplendent in a jaunty vomit green hat and a very elven ensemble it was my job to guide all of the little angels to see Santa. Yep. I was the happiest little elf that this town had ever seen. I was prepared to make it a magical experience for every little tot that crossed my path.

But slowly, the frostbite crept into my little felty vomit green toes and fingers and the children started to appear less angelic and more like the greedy little demons with runny noses that they really were. It eventually crossed over and became less of a novelty and more like torture. I took it out entirely on the children. I confess. I think I told most of them that Santa was really Bob from Home Hardware. May have had something to do with the hot cocoa laced with bailey's... yep I went from fun loving girl next door elf to vomit colored close to vomiting myself elf from hell.

Gotta love me. They didn't ask me back...