Blue Light Special

My neighbor has those neon blue Christmas lights that x-ray your soul and probably give you a brain tumor. You know the ones I am talking about. I still see them burned onto my corneas when I close my eyes.

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This week my hubby and I will be doing our yearly charity stint as Santa and Mrs. Claus. I am a little concerned about the quality of this year's "performance" though. First of all, I haven't played any songs without swears and/or suggestive content in 363 days, and if I don't get my act together, we might end up with this:

"Ok kids, time to rock with Rudolph the Fucking Angry Anti-Establishment Reindeer featuring a little help from my friends Greeeeeeeen Dayyyyyyy!!!"

Secondly, Santa (my hubby) might not be what the children expected either. He mentioned to me today that this was the worst year for him ever and he couldn't wait for it to end. He's been downtrodden, run down, unjustly persecuted and overworked, leaving him more than a little depressed these days. I worry that the "jolly old man" may come across a little "off":

"Ho ho ho kids. Look, it's time ya'll grow up so let me tell you a bit about life - they hit ya when you're down, then they hit ya again. The corporations suck your blood. We're all gonna die. And I'm not really Santa. There is no SANTA!"

See? Not a good show.

Luckily there's something about his red velvet suit and my red velvet dress (with the faux fur!)that changes who you are and how you feel. In that minute it takes to dress, you are transformed, and become whoever you want to be. And there's nothing more appealing to two bi-polar manically depressed people in love than that.