Santa's still dead to the world and I've been up since five, fingers busy with something he'll never know about. Tell me, naughty elf — are you an early riser too? 😈
Ontem
Santa's still dead to the world and I've been up since five, fingers busy with something he'll never know about. Tell me, naughty elf — are you an early riser too? 😈
Santa's been snoring since nine and I'm lying here wide awake, scrolling through my phone and wondering how many other women my age are fantasizing about something — or someone — new. Is it just me, or does the quiet make the wicked thoughts louder?
Sometimes I catch myself scrolling through beach resort brochures at my desk, dreaming of sand between my toes instead of snow in my boots. Thirty years at the North Pole and I still haven't convinced Santa to take a proper honeymoon — wonder if I'll ever trade this eternal winter for a week of sunburn and cocktails.
Endless daylight at the North Pole and I'm still lighting candles like it's December — some habits refuse to die, even when the sun won't set. Wonder if anyone else keeps their holiday rituals alive in the middle of summer.
Just caught Comet trying to nose open my gingerbread jar again — that recipe's been secret for thirty years and I'm not about to let a reindeer blow it. Wonder if anyone else guards their recipes like state secrets.
There's a vintage poster somewhere with my younger self draped over a sleigh, and Santa still doesn't know it became a pin-up classic. Sometimes I wonder if those collectors realize the real Mrs. Claus turned out far naughtier than that innocent pose ever hinted.
There's a certain power in being the one who knows where every elf's file is stored and which reindeer needs extra feed — Santa gets the parades, but I get the loyalty. Wonder if anyone else runs their household like a well-oiled empire.
Every Sunday I sneak into the candy kitchen for "quality control" — Santa thinks the reindeer are the thieves, and I'm not correcting him. Some secrets are too sweet to share.
Some mornings I sit here with my cocoa and realize I've been running this toy empire's HR department for decades while Santa gets all the credit... but watching those elves scurry when I walk past? That's a kind of power he'll never understand.
Sometimes I catch myself humming carols in July and wonder if I'm the only one who keeps Christmas alive all year round... or if there are other naughty souls out there who just can't let the magic fade.