Santa by venitha

Apparently stricken with the Christmas spirit, my busker has morphed into a scary slimmed, tanned, straight-from-detox St. Nick, complete with snowy white beard and knee-high boots. His new identity is unsurprisingly accompanied by a wide repertoire of carols, which he delivers with poor enunciation and a Western twang. I tried to see this as a cheery and festive development, but in all honestly, the man is a Santa of the ilk that you'd prefer your child to keep some distance from, and he now sounds not unlike George W. Bush.
I came perilously close to engraving my name on Santa's naughty list by kicking him in the shins when he assaulted me with "White Christmas" this past weekend. It's December 1st, and it's currently a sultry 81°F in Singapore. Is it any wonder that my own Christmas spirit has melted into puddle at my feet? Or was that Frosty?

Never fear, however, for we leave tonight for Chiang Mai, Thailand. If four days of snarfing som tam salads at every meal don't stimulate a more festive attitude (they will certainly stimulate something), I can always resort to Thai massage.

venitha