Christmas Crackers

‘Only one. And it’s been playing since August.’

‘But Christmas is in..?’

‘December,’ she nodded. ‘Ten points for historical accuracy, minus the same plus two percent for not noting that the profit motive is the driving force in the world.’

‘Ah,’ said Donnie.

‘You think I’d be standing here in a skimpy outfit, with itchy tinsel around my nethers and wearing earplugs if I didn’t need the cash? Incoming.’

‘What?’

‘Mister Santa,’ said a shy voice.

Donnie turned suddenly and saw another small child in front of him, possibly female, but he couldn’t be sure.

‘Yes?’

‘My parents have asked if you can give us world peace.’

‘Fuckin’ hippies,’ murmured the assistant and stuffed the earplug back in.

Donnie looked back to his assistant, to the girl and back to the assistant.

She beamed joy to the assembled masses and was now unavailable for further discussion.

‘World peace,’ repeated the child, then in a whiney voice, added, ‘Please?’

Donnie turned to face the child.

‘Consider it done,’ Donnie declared, glancing to the next child. ‘Next!’

The tree-hugger-in-training was replaced by another sprog.

Donnie peered down.

‘And what’s your n–’

‘Timmy,’ yelled the boy at full-volume.

Donnie jumped backwards, his ears ringing. The child jumped onto Donnie’s knee, missed and collided with his already tender nethers.

Donnie twisted, trying desperately to protect the appendages from further injury. He shifted the child to one-side while simultaneously pulling his knees together.

‘Doesn’t this job come with a box,’ complained Donnie, eyes watering.