“Bella?! Why in the hell do I have to wear the stupid pillow?” I yelled.
“Because you have a six pack, Edward Anthony. Santa Claus is a bowl full of jello. You, my sexy husband, are not. Your muscles have muscles. It’s sickening,” Bella said as she came out of the bathroom, adjusting her wig. “I hate this thing. I don’t even want to imagine all of the lice and cooties in here.”
“Want to wear the pillow?” I asked as I held it up.
“Ah, no,” she snickered. “I’m going to check on our elves, St. Studmuffin.”
“St. Studmuffin,” I deadpanned.
“Santa Claus was known as St. Nick. So, St. Studmuffin. There you go,” Bella said as she breezed out of the bedroom.
I love my wife, really, I do, but sometimes she is just so random. St. Studmuffin. This coming from a woman who calls me Dr. McFuckme. I fucking love my random and sexy wife.
I finished dressing and stuffing the pillow into the Santa Claus costume that my sister leant me for our annual trip to the pediatrics ward for children that were stuck there on Christmas. I adjusted my own wig and white beard before slipping on the silver frames.
“Daddy?” Lizzie called out. “Momma needs you. She has to put on your blush, or something.”
“Fuck,” I mumbled.
“Swear jar, Daddy,” Lizzie giggled.
I came out of the bedroom and smirked at my daughter. She was wearing an elf costume. Her bronze curls were clipped back and her face was covered with her own blush. She giggled at me and poked my pillowed stomach. “Hey, fingers away from the pudge, child of mine,” I said as I arched a brow.
“It’s weird to see you like that, Daddy,” she snickered. “Besides, the REAL Santa Claus doesn’t need a pillow.”
“That’s because he eats all those blasted cookies when he deposits the presents to all of the good boys and girls for Christmas! Ho! Ho! Ho!” I bellowed, scooping her up and carrying her down their stairs.
“Daddy, I love you but just be a doctor. Don’t quit your day job,” Lizzie said as she pulled down my beard.
“Acting ain’t my thing?”
“No,” she said as she kissed my cheek.
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