I have been writing poetry, fiction and short stories for many years and have completed a book of poems. I also enjoy comedy writing.
There I was, standing outside the front door in the cold. Watching my wife fly away with Santa as he laughed. “Ho ho ho ho.” I got so upset I hurled a snow ball at the pig in red suit. He spun around his sleigh and as I looked up he made his reindeers poop. There I was, a pathetic husband who lost his wife to Santa Claus on Christmas.
Well, the story all started when my wife becoming overly ecstatic about Christmas. She would go out and shop for everything the house did not need. She bought decorations by the thousands. She bought four fake snow men with a snow making machine. She would put two snow men out the front yard and one between the two Christmas trees we had in the living room. Yeah, that’s right, two darn Christmas trees with more lights blinking than all the police cars in Brooklyn. The other snow man was placed in our room with the snow making machine she would turn on at nights. She said it made her feel closer to Santa. I was a mad lunatic at Christmas because of all the expenses my credit card would incur during the wretched season. My wife called me by a nickname during the Christmas season, she called me Scrinh. It was a mix between Scrooge and the Grinch. I hated that darn word, but I loved my wife so whatever she called me I had no choice but to answer to it. I remembered she also started calling me limply because….well let’s just leave that explanation for another time.
Getting Christmas Junk
One day she came home from lunch with her friends all pumped up and filled with christmas exuberance. She had been browsing online for Christmas decorations and she found some new designs and styles that she completely wanted. She looked at me and said, “Honey, I need these.”
“What for?” I asked.
“For Christmas. What else do you need Christmas decorations for?” she replied.
“Well, I think you have enough decorations for every nation in this house. I am not wasting money on any more.” I replied.
She stood there looking at me with her hands by her side and clenched her fist as though she was preparing to knock me across the head with a reindeer. “You are not the man I fell in love with 10 years ago. You used to enjoy Christmas with me. Now all you do is go to work and come home and fix things. You never read me Christmas stories, you never dressed up in a Santa outfit, you never built me a snowman with a carrot nose and the worst part is, you have never said, ho ho ho. I am sorry John, I don’t believe this marriage is going to last past Christmas if you don’t find your Christmas spirit.” She said.
“Bah Humbug!” I replied.
“Huh, you said what!?”
She was shocked at the humbug word and ran straight upstairs to her room and slammed the door behind her. I proceeded into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. As I opened the fridge to get some cheese for the preparation of my meal, the only things I saw were boxes of milk and a plethora of chocolate chip cookies. Each had a label on it that read. “Don’t eat. The milk and cookies are for Santa.”
“What the hell is going on in this house? Bah humbug. Damn you Santa Claus. Damn you to hell! Whew, It felt good shouting that. Now what am I going to do about my wife’s obsession with Christmas? And even more important. What am I going to eat? It was Christmas Eve and John decided that since his wife was a Christmas maniac, he would drown her in everything Christmas she wanted. So he went out and got the decorations she showed him online and a Santa Suit to dress up as Santa Clause. He even bout the reindeer hat with the horns so he could act like a reindeer while his wife rode on his back. It was getting late, it was actually Christmas already because it was 12:12 AM. John hurriedly home with the Christmas stuff. It was snowing and cold outside so his drive home was slower than usual.
As I opened the door. I saw a man in a red suit sitting in my living room hugging my crying wife. There was milk and cookies on the table.
“Mary, who the heck is this chubby guy? What is wrong? Why are you crying? I asked.
“This is the real Santa Claus John. He just stopped by to drop off a Christmas toy I always wanted when I was a kid. But I grew to be very naughty and did not receive it. But I am good now, so Santa gave me this.”
“haaaa ha ha ha haaa.” John started to laugh.
“This is the real Santa what? Mary, get this peddler out of our house. I bought the decorations you wanted. So you can end this real Santa game and let's go put up these stuff on the tree outside, ok honey?” I replied..
“Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho. The joke is on you sir. I am the real Santa Claus. And you are going to be permanently placed on my naughty list. Look at this wonderful woman filled with the Joy of Christmas and you refused to enhance that Joy. Sir, you are unworthy of her. I have asked her to come live with me in the North Pole where I will marry her and make her Mrs. Santa Claus.” Said Santa.
“You can’t do that!”
“No? Why can’t I?” asked Santa.
“You. You are Santa Claus for crying out loud. You are the good guy. Good guys don’t steal other men wives.” I replied.
“Ho Ho Ho Ho Hoo. You are dumber than a box of dumbbells. Your wife is just not for you Jason.”
“It is John you swindling slime snake. Not Jason.”
“Ok, Jake! Take a good look at her. She is crying, she is unloved at Christmas. She has a fridge full of milk and cookies. Her house looks like the North Pole. She did this all for me James, for me. Now, if you don’t mind. I and my future Mrs. Claus will make our way out thank you.”
“Oh yeah? I am not letting you pervert walk out here with my wife.' I said.
“Oh, and I guess you are going to stop us?” asked Santa.
“I will demolish you!”
As I rushed to hand Santa a knuckle sandwich, he simply snapped his fingers and both he and Mary turned into fairy dust and both ended up on the roof where his sleigh was parked. I rushed outside the front door and tripped on a gnome which had fallen off the outside decoration.
“Damn you gnome!” I Shouted.
At this time, Santa and Mary were in the sleigh as it began to lift into the air. “Mary! Mary! What the heck are you doing? I am your husband. Get down out that sleigh.” I shouted.
“I am sorry john. This is what I truly want. I want Christmas forever. And I will have it when I am Mrs. Claus.” Mary turned away from John and hugged Santa.
“Santa you wife stealing pig. I am going to end Christmas if it is the last thing I do.” John shouted.
So there I was, standing outside the front door in the cold. Watching my wife fly away with Santa as he laughed. “ho ho ho ho.” I got so upset I hurled a snow ball at the pig in red suit. He spun around his sleigh and as I looked up he made his reindeers poop. There I was, a pathetic husband who lost his wife to Santa Claus on Christmas standing in the snow with reindeer poop on my face.
From that day onward. I decided to really take on the persona of the Scrinch. I would be the worst thing Christmas would ever see. I became the nemesis of the season.
© 2018 Clive Williams
Clive Williams (author) from Jamaica on November 30, 2018:
LOL@John...Scrinch over limply any time.
John Hansen from Queensland Australia on November 29, 2018:
Haha Clive, I can relate to this, but not quite on the same scale. Thanks for naming the hero John by the way lol. I think I’d prefer the nickname “Scrinch” than “Limply” though. You aren’t funny.
Clive Williams (author) from Jamaica on November 29, 2018:
Hello Pam....Yes it is sad. But I will end Christmas. Then she will run back in my humbug harms.
Pamela Oglesby from Sunny Florida on November 29, 2018:
It looks sad for you with your wife being Mrs. Santa Clause. Hang in there - Ho Ho Ho
Clive Williams (author) from Jamaica on November 29, 2018:
Eric..I have seen Santa
. He stole my wife
Eric Dierker from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A. on November 29, 2018:
So possible. I am sure my wife would throw my son into the backseat to avoid a custody battle - Jurisdiction on the North Pole? Song;
Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walking home from our house Christmas eve
You can say there's no such thing as Santa
But as for me and grandpa we believe