Two stories about Mrs Santa

 

Video: "Mrs Santa Sings"

Mrs Santa has a Coffee

 

Out Santa’s window, there’s nothing. The North Pole, imaginary, featureless, disappearing into the always twilight. Mrs Santa a cup of coffee held to her chest, remembers the small bright sun, low on the horizon, undefeatable. The day of her marriage and her travel here. Of course, it wasn’t as if Santa actually existed. All rosy cheeked in Mrs Santa’s bed, he was always the sentimental love child of advertising campaigns and folktales. Didn’t stop his attempts at merriment with what he irritatingly called his “elf.” There’s a reason he could travel around the world so quickly. And then she’d begged him to do the inevitable and sell to Old Jeff Bezos, so she could gather the elves around her, the real elves, each with their small childlike brightness, and, dressed in the warm skins of reindeer, set out into the tundra, the real tundra, and find the winter sun.