further to the point

So I'm in the mall, my favouritest place (not!), hanging out near the Santa crèche. The queue is surprisingly small for some reason, but there's lots, I discover, going on.

At the front is a tousle-haired blond girl, about three years of age, who is apparently against Santa Claus visits. She isn't afraid, she isn't upset. She just doesn't give a hoot for Mr. Claus or his stale candy canes - much to her parents chagrin.

They coax, to no avail. They plead, they bargain, they threaten, but there is no convincing tousle-haired child that visiting with Santa has any sort of appeal. Finally, they let, so generously, someone else take a turn. But it isn't over yet (ha ha, quoth he).

Minutes after taking their reluctant exit, the family reappears with, it seems, renewed vengeance. The parents ask tousle-haired child if she's ready to sit on Santa's knee yet. To make herself clear on how NOT ready she is, tousle-haired child sticks her tongue out at the fat, jolly man for emphasis.

"He knows if you've been bad or good," the mother warned. Tousle-haired child looks unconcerned. "So do you want to see him?"

Negative.

"Fine," says Mother. "That was your last chance. We're going to see him now."

Child puts up a fight, so parents agree to go.

Thirty seconds later, who do we see coming around the corner again but the happy family, and it becomes clear to me that they've merely circumnavigated the Santa crèche, perhaps in an attempt to make the child forget the bearded man.

"Now do you want to see Santa Claus?"Daddy patiently asks.

"No."

So they stand around uneasily for a moment. "What about now?" he persists.

"No."

Funny how it's obvious only to me that this child has no intention of sitting on Santa's knee.

Family disappears again, and I watch the other children visiting with Claus. It really doesn't get any better.

Two boys, brothers, are sitting on Santa's knee to get their pictures taken. One looks about seven, the other one five. The lady photographer (a blond) has taken more than a dozen shots of the two, in order to get "the perfect one." This could take all night.

"Smile!" she demands. They are smiling. "Say 'macaroni and cheese,'" she recommends. They do, but it's still not enough.

"You're not smiling enough," she tells the little one. If he smiled any broader he'd be grotesque.

"Everyone tickle him."

They do, but still - apparently - not to the satisfaction of our perfectionist picture girl.

Family returns.

"Are you ready to see Santa yet?" Mother asks, undeterred by her child's insistence to the contrary. I have come to the conclusion that their cunning plan is to lead the tousle-haired child in circles until she relents from sheer exhaustion, dizziness or deliria. To sit on Santa's knee will be her only reprieve from this circlish hell. They do not relent.

Having had my fill, I decide to leave. But as I do, I hear the parents give their stubborn child "one last chance" before discussing Plan B.

"Maybe we should just go," the mother says, sounding a touch resigned.

"Yeah," the father agrees. "We'll come back after we do some shopping."

And you know what, I believe they just might.