Tuesday brings me over to Toy With Me, where today I am bringing you the hilarious BEGINNING of my biggest insecurity. Shockingly, it’s not about my ass or jiggly post-baby belly. No, it’s something that was the subject of my SECOND column: my weird fear of my vagina.

While I was going through my archives, cleaning up my shitty grammar and the places where my computer lovingly substituted *#&@^@ for quotation marks, I discovered the birth of my neuroses. Which is actually kind of…well, full of The Awesome. It’s rare that you get to see where it all began.

Do I even have to tell you while I’m VERY proud of how this one turned out because it’s hilarious and bawdy and you need to read it, it’s REALLY not safe for work. Unless you have THAT kind of job, in which case, are they hiring?

So I give you The Vagina Monologues.

Below, you have what ran in Canadian Family’s Blog as my first Guest Post over there. It’s VERY safe for work.

And, as if I don’t ask enough of you, The Daver is asking for your help on his blog. Like actual serious help.


In hindsight, I don’t know what I was thinking. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but I don’t know what I was thinking either. The gigantic pizza slice costume was one thing, but this, this was something else entirely. But nonetheless, there I was, standing in the middle of the pizza restaurant where I worked, in a Santa costume feeling stupider than I’d ever felt before.

The customers you could tell, were even a little embarrassed for me. I looked like an idiot. But the district manager had gotten the inane idea in his head that for some reason having “Santa’s Helper” in the store for Christmas Eve would somehow bring flocks of customers in for lunch in droves. What he didn’t know could fill volumes. Sort of like the time he taken me aside, just as I’d gotten four new tables who were all waiting for me to get them drinks to whisper conspiratorially, “I think someone is stealing…cheese.”

But I needed the extra money because it was my son’s first Christmas, and as a single mother who was also in school full time, I took every shift that I could lay my grubby hands on. Debasing or not, it was money in my pocket. Shockingly, no one actually wanted to have their picture taken with “Santa’s Helper.” I’m not sure if it was the yellowed, fraying beard, or the fact that my pants fell down about every third step that I took, or that I was obviously female, but no one seemed interested. In fact, everyone seemed to avoid me, which was just as well. I used the time to get caught up on my homework. No rest for the wicked.

Finally, just before I was to go home to my son, some family agreed to have their picture taken with “Santa’s Helper.” Perhaps they hadn’t seen me. Maybe they didn’t like their kid very much. Or maybe everyone just had a fantastic sense of humor. Who knows.

All that I do know is that they thrust their tiny baby onto my threadbare lap. And all that the baby knew was that one minute, she was burbling on her mother’s shoulder and the next, she was shoved onto this stinky scary bearded lady in an saggy red Santa Suit. She did the only sensible thing to be done: she opened up her wee baby mouth and she bellowed. She screamed, she cried, and she wailed.

The picture was taken and a phobia of Santa was formed. This poor kid was going to grow up terrified of Santa. Jumping at holiday displays and wondering why the thought of Christmas always made her feel nervous and nauseous, always trying to get out of festive celebrations in favor of sitting in front of the television with her twelve cats and a pint of ice cream.

It would all be my fault.

Satan’s Little Helper.


All right, o! Internet, my Internet, it’s time to bring Your Aunt Becky a bowlful of YOUR stories about Sandy Claws and how he terrified YOU as a child. SO BRING IT.

51 thoughts on “Satan’s Little Helper (etc)

  1. I have that kind of job. I read your stuff at work. πŸ˜€

    I was never terrified of Santa as a kid. But apparently ( I don’t remember it, I have been told. Like my bro says “If I don’t remember it… I didn’t do it.”) I asked the mall Santa for a belly dancer when I was but a wee lad. Somehow my mall had belly dancers at Xmas. IDK WTFBBQ? But you know what, my gf can belly dance. So, although a little late the fat ass came through.

  2. You are hilarious. Which is a comment for your post over there. But for some reason I am unable to post over there. So I’m telling you here. You’re hilarious.

  3. Technically, I “have that kind of job.” Having your own office with the computer screen facing the opposite of the door does that for you. Off to read more hiarity (is that a word, and if so, did I spell it right?)

  4. I have to go through my blog occasionaly to clean up shitty grammer and spelling errors. And then I feel like a major fucking dumbass for posting with those errors.

    1. Trust me, I look at my earlier posts and I’m all WHAT WAS I THINKING? And then I realize, dude, I really wasn’t trying to WRITE when I wrote those. I was trying to entertain.

      And then I’m STILL embarrassed.

  5. I was terrified of Santa. My dad worked nights so we had a security system to KEEP OUT intruders and then magically a big fat and loud man is supposed to come into our house? It freaked me out.

    I used to leave a note asking him to not come into my room and I would not fall asleep untilmidnight or later. One year at 2AM my mom came into my room and told me the truth and I was so relieved!!! It was the best Chrismtas ever – my mom, however, was very tired.

  6. I think Santas are creepy too. My sister will not let the kids sit on his lap, she thinks they are all perverts.

    BTW. Did you check out Matt Logelin’s blog today? His Santa pics are fucking hilarious. I about died laughing when I saw them.

    Will read the other blog when I get home. Not only is it blocked from my work, but they send reports on people who try to access blocked sites more than once. So since I know its blocked, I aint clickin πŸ˜›

  7. Sandy Claus? Um, excuse me?

    Actually, yes, I was terrified of him. I remember being three years old and hearing the adults talk about how he was COMING OVER. TO THE HOUSE. (this was actually a friend of the family dressed like Santa). I remember trying to figure out where I could hide so that they would never, ever find me.

    I am actually still trying to find that hiding place. They always find me.

  8. I was actually very happy that Baby Soup enjoyed Santa this year. I think it helped that he was a real bearded Santa, and the fat was real and whatnot. That, and she loves people period. And if a camera is involved? Even better.

  9. The only times I remember seeing Santa was when he came to big Christmas party some friends of my mom hosted every year. I think the dads must have drawn straws every year to get into the costume because Santa was all shapes & sizes over the years and various degrees of drunk. One year someone pulled the beard off of him and shouted “DADDY!!” in tones of pure horror.

  10. I was never afraid of Santa, because I always knew the ones at the mall and such were “Santa’s Helpers”. Some of the helpers creep me out.

    As for the REAL Santa, his name is Roger and he lives in Middletown, Indiana. This guy is a text book Santa. With beard, bue eyes and glasses. He even wears more red than normal people. The first time I saw him in his Santa suit, I did a double take, and started believing Santa is real again.

    1. Well OF COURSE the real Santa isn’t going to have “S. Claus” on his mailbox, right? He’s going to casually masquerade as “Roger Mitchell” or some such mundane bullshit so we don’t all mob him like 13-year-olds mob the Jonas Brothers.

      *nods sagely*

      Let’s capture this “Roger” guy and hold him until he takes us to the North Pole for a visit.

  11. Now that I have kids, I’ll never look at a Santa the same anymore…..I watch that mans hands with eyes that don’t rest or blink until after my kids are safe and out of his reach.

    I’m not saying that every, or even just one Santa is a pervert, but I watch those hands and make sure they are visible the ENTIRE time……….

    Before kids, it never crossed my mind…where Santas hands were located….but now……Am I strange?

  12. I tell the Evil Genius that the people in costumes aren’t The Holly King/Santa – they’re just people DRESSED as The Holly King/Santa. He hasn’t questioned me about the real deal yet, whew!

    Meanwhile, I have no scary stories…I don’t recall having been attached to Santa or talking to him…just hanging my enormous stocking from the mantle and knowing it would be filled. Even as adults, my family hangs stockings…we love to find goofy oddments to fill them with.

    Shade and Sweetwater,

  13. I’m sure it wasn’t you- Boy is terrified of every Santa we’ve encountered so far, even the chubby guy with REAL WHISKERS.

  14. I have a total mental picture of this situation in my head.

    What the hell were the parents thinking?

    And really, your manager thought someone was stealing cheese?

    If this is a true story, we’re going to need more details.

  15. Wow…I am lmao…..your Vagina Monologues…toooo funny ..reminds me of the sex and the city episode…with Charlotte using a mirror down there…I know I thought they all were pretty much the same…Love your blog..!!

  16. I was never afraid of Santa, no nasty experiences thank goodness. I didn’t even realise it was a phobia. Fabulous writing, Aunty B, loved the post.

  17. I think as a kid my knowledge that He Brought The Goods helped my fear… and the awkwardness of sitting on a stranger’s lap. I do remember an old babysitter of mine who was a Jehovah’s Witness bringing over one of those little track/chick/whatev the eff they’re called booklets that said “SANTA is SATAN” or something and I was like wow, ok, yikes.

  18. I never went to visit the mall Santa as a kid. Never taken mine either–not out of any fear of Santa or anything, more that it has to be a damed fine experience to get me to face mall crowds. I’m uncomfortable in a room with more than two people in it. But I do remember the time “Santa” came to our house. I have no idea who it was–probably a friend of the family or something, but there it was, after supper one night, and Santa just appeared at our house with a couple of little presents for us. To say it was magical would be an understatement. I spent years glowing from the knowledge that I was special enough that Santa actually came to my house. I hope that, one way or another, I can give my kids that same feeling someday.

  19. Decades later, my mom still bitches that there isn’t a solitary picture of me with Santa where I’m not screaming my bloody head off. It’s probably good in the long run, you know– instilling that “stranger danger” feeling into kids from infancy. I loved the Easter bunny, though.. giant-ass stuffed animal with candy? Yes, please. I’m smiling in every one of THOSE pictures. But creepy stranger, negative.

    1. That’s because you are a smart, smart person. My children are afraid of Santa. The small ones, at least. The biggest one has no fear of strangers. And it’s TERRIFYING to me. I WANT him to be afraid of strangers to some degree.

  20. this is so awesome. there are a chain of coffee/doughnut places here in canada called Tim Horton’s. i worked there for about 2 weeks when i was 16. at tim horton’s (aka “timmy’s” to all canadians, no matter where they live)they call the doughnut holes “Timbits.” i had to wear the sweaty stinking “Timbits” costume to the local mall as part of my job. let me tell you: children of the world are not any kinder to giant round fuzzy doughnut holes with creepy faces than they are to fake, uterus-sporting santas. it’s where i first learned that other people’s kids are little fuckers for the most part.

    and when you were Mammary Claus, did you smell like pizza? because i’m kind of turned on by the thought of sitting on santa’s girlish lap if santa smells like pizza. hell, i’d sit on pretty much anyone’s lap if they smelled like pizza.

  21. I always think that if you’re going to get a person dressed up as Santa, it should be the best santa you can do. Firstly, being a man is kind of mandatory. And secondly, poor quality costumes and unrealistic beards shouldn’t even be manufactured, it’s a crime against nature.

    Kids aren’t stupid, and they aren’t blind. Well, most aren’t. And the blindness wouldn’t mean that they are foolable either, because they can smell.

    Why don’t we dress anyone who is not a REAL santa in an elf costume instead? I mean, that really is the dress of a “santa’s little helper” person.

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