Santa paced up and down the aisles of the toy factory, watching the elves busily making toys for Santa to deliver to the children on Christmas morning. "Oh dear, oh dear," he mumbled to himself. Mrs. Claus stood in Santa's office, looking out the window at him. She closed the blinds and walked out onto the factory floor to talk with him. She saw his distress. "What is it, Santa? Why are you anxious?"
Santa looked down at his short, stocky wife, she of rosy cheeks, kind eyes, and white hair. He said, "Oh, Mrs. Claus, you know what it is." Mrs. Claus shook her head. "Oh, Santa, it's like this every year. You think the elves won't finish on time, but they always do." Santa sighed while looking about the room, "Yes, I know, that has happened every year since I've been delivering toys to the children, but ... what if this year is different?" Mrs. Claus shook her head and chuckled. "You say that every year, dear." Santa harrumphed. "Damnit, woman, the past cannot predict the future!" Mrs. Claus looked down at the ground, tears in her eyes. She said, sheepishly, "I'm sorry, Santa. I shouldn't have questioned you."
Santa softened and let out a "Ho ho ho!" He gently grabbed Mrs. Claus by the shoulders and bent down to lower his face to hers. She looked up as Santa said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Claus. You know how I get this time of year." She nodded solemnly and said, "Why don't you just wait until January this year? There's no rule saying you have to deliver toys on Christmas morning." Santa considered this, but said, "I understand your point, sweetheart, but it's a tradition, one of the few traditions left in the Western world. The people have given up on so much of what they had once believed was true. If I stop delivering toys on Christmas morning, well, I'm afraid to think of what the people might do."
Mrs. Claus scoffed. "What could they do that is so much worse than what they've already done. There hasn't been a year without war since civilization began. Oppression continues unabated, repression never ends, suffering never ceases. Let Apple and Xbox take care of them this year. That's all they really want, anyway." Santa sternly replied. "No! I refuse to believe children no longer like hand-made wooden choo-choo trains, jack-in-the-boxes, and a warm pair of socks. We will continue as we have done every year we have been delivering toys."
Mrs. Claus shook her head. "Santa, the times have changed. They changed long ago. No one cares any more." Santa erupted, "They care one day each year! Maybe not the whole day, but for an hour or so. That's something, at least. When they stop caring at all, well, then I'll stop." Mrs. Claus pulled Santa into the office to talk with him privately. "Santa, the elves believe in you. They work their hind ends off for 364 days a year believing that what you do is meaningful. Without that, they'd have nothing and if they had nothing what do you think they'd do?" Santa shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. What?" Mrs. Claus pulled Santa's beard, "They'd walk out, you nincompoop! We don't pay them a thing. They don't just build toys, you know. They built our glorious house, they built the factory, they do all the maintenance in the buildings and on the grounds, they care for the reindeer, they provide us food, they do everything. The only thing I do is cook your meals and the only thing you do is work on Christmas morning. You work once a year! One day--not even a full day! Do not mess with a good thing, understand? I don't give a crap whether we deliver toys in July or if you just fly off with the reindeer and dump the presents in the North Sea before coming back to say 'Ho ho ho! Another successful Christmas.' Am I getting through to you?"
Santa turned to look out the office window. The elves were busily working away, smiling and singing while making toys children didn't want or need. Santa looked back at Mrs. Claus. He nodded his head, "You're right. Thank you, Mrs. Claus. I don't know what I'd do without you." Mrs. Claus laughed, "You'd be fine without me. It's the elves you can't do without!" Santa and Mrs. Claus hugged and laughed. Santa kissed his wife's forehead then said, "Sometimes I believe my own bullshit, you know? I forget it's not the children that need to believe; it's the fucking elves!"
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