An Explanation To My Son

An Explanation To My Son

Mum sat bolt upright in the bed,
‘What was that noise downstairs?’ she said.
‘Schhnoorrrr!’ said Dad, still in deep slumber,
He too quickly felt effect of this unintended blunder,
As he was elbowed in the ribs with womanly force.
‘Aaaaah!’ Dad cried. ‘Shhhhh!’ Mum hissed and just to reinforce,
She clamped a hand upon his mouth and hissed through gritted teeth,
‘I heard a sound, there’s someone there, I think we’ve got a thief.’
‘Ugh Thuf,’ said Dad, his voice all muffled.
Mum pressed down her hand so that Dad just snuffled,
‘Be quiet and listen, there’s someone there,
It sounded like the scraping of a chair.’
They lay in silence, Dads mouth still covered,
And just as Mum’s nerves had all but recovered,
A gentle rustling broke the silence.
Dad lifted Mum’s hand in gentle defiance,
In hushed down tones he tried to calm,
And softly held her in his arm.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing, just the kids awake,
I’ll go and shout to make them quake.
You stay here all warm and snug.'
Then Dad gave Mum a manly hug,
Before arising from the bed.
'I don't think it is the kids.' Mum said.
Dad replied, 'I'll take this big stick just in case,
If it's a thief I'll give him chase.
He'll run for sure when he sees me,
But I'm sure it's just the kids. You'll see.'
Dad's stick, was the handle of an upturned broom,
With menace he made to leave the room.
'I'm coming with you.' Mum leapt to her feet,
And she grasped Dads arm which he found rather sweet.
‘I’ll be your back-up and watch your rear.
I don’t want to be left alone in here.’
So together they crept to the top of the stairs,
Each one of them saying their own silent prayers.
As they tiptoed down they heard footsteps below,
And a deep growling voice said ‘Ho, Ho, Ho.’
Mum held her breath and Dad froze at her side,
The truth of it was, they were both terrified.
It so obviously wasn’t the kids they could hear,
And the thought of masked gunmen left them shaking in fear.
But the sticks weight in his hand gave some courage to Dad,
And the thought of a trespasser made him boiling mad.
Through work he’d recently had assertiveness training,
And he manfully stepped down the few stairs remaining,
Pushed the door wide, held his stick high,
And poked the intruder right in the eye.
The stranger quickly turned away,
And shouted ‘What is this foul play?’
Dad’s brave exhibit encouraged Mum,
Who flew past Dad and kicked the interlopers bum.
Dads broomstick waved and bashed and hit,
Mum slapped and pulled and cursed and bit.
Eventually in exhaustion they both ceased their attack,
Their uninvited visitor was lying flat on his back.
Mum was sat upon his chest,
Preventing the escape of their unknown guest.
Dad was sweaty and rather pink from the fight,
But when he viewed the scene his face turned white,
For the mysterious gent he had beat with his stick,
Was no one other than old Saint Nic’.
'Flippin'eck,' said Dad, 'what have we done.'
'I'm putting your name on the naughty list son.'
Said a voice from somewhere behind Mums bottom,
'And as for you young lady, your behaviour’s been rotten.'
Mum twisted around and was overcome,
At the sight of Santa she was struck quite dumb.
‘Get up off me woman, allow me to rise,
I need to get my breath back, I’m not used to exercise,
And as for all your fisticuffs, well you both should have more sense.
I’d really like to know what you can say in your defence.’
Dad helped Mum off Santa and then pulled him to his feet,
And with words of explanation his forgiveness did entreat.
He told how noises in the night had heightened both their senses,
And promised he was willing to pay for any incurred expenses,
For Father Christmas’s sack was wide open, presents strewn across the floor,
Many had been damaged and he thought Santa might need to buy more.
Also Santa’s suit was torn and ripped in the most unfortunate of places,
And he dreaded to imagine the shock there’d be on little children’s faces,
If they caught a glimpse of Santa’s bits upon this Christmas Night,
And the distress that it would cause them, well it just wouldn’t be right.
Mum said ‘I could sew you up’, but Santa said ‘No way!
You’re not coming near my bits with a needle after what I’ve been through today.’
‘The broken presents aren’t a problem,’ said Mr Santa Claus,
‘I always carry a few extra, the reason is because,
Although circumstances such as this have never previously occurred,
I have had small odd mishaps where some damage was incurred.
But as for my flapping open pants, I don’t know what to do,
It’s cold out on that open sleigh and my bits will all turn blue.’
It was Dad who had the solution, for being rather large himself,
He had some clothes to fit Santa, upstairs on the cupboard shelf.
So Santa changed his clothing leaving his old red suit with Mum,
Who promised to have it mended by the time his work was done.
Mum said that she was sorry and Dad said much the same,
And Santa Claus forgave them, told them no one was to blame.
He said he felt very comfortable in Dad’s jogging pants and sweater,
And they had a great big Christmas hug which made them all feel better.
Mum and Dad then tidied up and went back up to bed,
Santa filled the stockings and went off in his sled.
But if tonight you see a man who looks a bit like Dad,
Sneaking round about you house, please don’t think you’ve been had.
For it’s really good old Santa Claus though slightly oddly dressed,
And though he’s had a shocking night he’s still doing his best.
Eating mince pies that have been left, drinking milk from every glass
He’s dressed like Dad but he’s bringing all,

A Very Merry Christmas!



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M.C. Newberry

Sun 13th Dec 2015 16:43

Very much suited to a humorous seasonal monologue.
In my mind I can "hear" Stanley Holloway's lugubrious
tones telling this Santastic tale.

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