It had always been a tradition in my house to leave out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa Claus. But the tradition ended on that fateful Christmas when Santa shrunk my nuts.
Christmas Eve was a happy time. The tree was trimmed, the gifts were wrapped, and now it was time for bed. "Something for Santa?" I said.
"Yes!" said my sister. "Cookies and milk... and nuts!"
"Nuts!" I said. "Why?" But I knew why. All day we had been playing with the big bowl of nuts on the dining room table.
The pecans were race cars to roll across the floor, wobbling crazily from door to door. The almonds were light, just right for throwing fights. They didn't hurt when they hit. Just watch your eyes.
Hazelnuts, brazil nuts, filberts -- all fun. So it wasn't surprising that the subject of nuts would be bubbling at the top of my sister's mind.
The cookies and milk were set by the fire, along with the big bowl of nuts.
"Goodnight, everybody!" we called out and left, taking Snoopy and Kitty up to our room, where we snuggled in bed with visions of Christmas afloat in our heads.
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