Final Argument

It's a discussion, a debate ... until Christmas draws closer

The conversations always began on Nov. 25, with aunt telling uncle that there was just one month to go till Christmas. Uncle, reading his newspaper and sipping his second cup of green tea, invariably grunted. That was the warmest of warm ups.

Uncle and Aunt having been married 40 years, each knew how things were going to progress, and each played along. All the conversations, discussions and debates they'd had through those years had followed the same pattern, and the great Christmas Debate was no different. After that first mention on Nov. 25, nothing would be said for three or four days. Then, seeking a moment when he was in a good mood, aunt approached uncle with 'have you thought about it?' and he feigned ignorance with 'about what?'

Each knew Uncle would be Santa at the club. He had been ever since he had turned fifty and been considered of age. But the lead up to the final argument was something each privately enjoyed though neither admitted it.

The Final Argument took place on Dec. 15, as they were putting up the decorations (aunt was very efficient and liked to get this done early). She held a sprig of mistletoe over his head, and as they finished a loving kiss, said. "You will be Santa, won't you, dear?" and he said "Yes" and that was that. Considering the nephews and nieces called it The Final Argument, it was pretty tame, but coming up over the time it did, it had its significance.

Well, he'd been Santa for ten years now and actually wanted a break. It wasn't just a joke, it was hard work, with all the sticky fingers in his beard and plump kids on his knee joints. Young Peter Potter wetting him last year had been the straw that broke the camel's back, or the pee that dissolved Santa's passion.

This year, he decided to get to work a few months' ahead. So, on September 25, he went on a diet. No more cheesecake, no more burgers, no more steaks, there was too much at stake. By the time November 25 came round, he wasn't round any more, and didn't just answer with a mere grunt.

This time when aunt said that Christmas was a month away, he remarked that at the rate he was going, he'd be too thin to be Santa by then and they needed to find someone else. How about Ashwin, who had just turned fifty and looked the part?

"So that's why you've been slimming! I was wondering, but didn't ask."

"Yeah, see?" He stood up and struck a pose, then did a three-sixty-degree turn. "A skinny Santa is no use to anyone."

"You're not exactly skinny, but I know what you mean." She chewed her lower lip. He watched, his eyes growing brighter. Chewing her lower lip meant she was going to give in She had chewed it when he'd been on his knees, a snippet of twenty, asking "Will you ...?" and holding out his grandma's ring. His joints hadn't hurt then, he'd moved without any creaking ...

"But we can't let this debate end here, we have a tradition to keep!" she wailed, finally.

He had won!

He thought a moment. Then, it hit him. "Let's hand the baton - or in this case, the sack and sleigh - over right now. Let's go meet Ashwin's wife."

Ten minutes later, they were seated at Mrs. Ashwin Devji's table, sipping hot chocolate. (Uncle didn't need to be on a diet any more.)

She smiled. "Yes, I'll get Ashwin to be Santa, I'll start working on him when he gets home this evening."

"And don't forget, dear, The Final Argument is always under mistletoe!"