Reindeer Games

I'm cheesed at the controversy over the existence of Saint Nick.
I bust my butt year round on projects from live plants to wooden gadgets to fabric creations to kitchen productions.  I make my lists, I check them twice.  No matter how tired I get, I'm still obligated to be lively and quick.
I shop carefully for the best deals, even when the weather is colder than a witch's wit, my cheeks are like roses and my nose like a cherry, running all over the map with a bundle of toys flung on my back.
I slave over whichever burners of my stove work, and my oven if it chooses to function.  (Major appliance manufacturers could consider building their products to last if they want to get off the naughty list.)  I make holiday goodies and test them till I have a little round belly.  It shakes when I laugh.  I hate that.
The cost of reindeer fodder is out of control, but I speak not a word.  I go straight to my work.  I'm up way too late filling stockings every Christmas Eve because I have to wait till all the rodents and other creatures are unconscious.
I value my anonymousness and privacy every bit as much as Jeremy Renner, but doggone it, it yanks my chain when I work so hard year round to make the world a better place and people don't acknowledge I even exist.  I get how God feels.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  On Christmas Day I'm going to put my feet up and take my annual twenty-four hours off, and the next day, even if some people don't believe in me, I'll be back to my work again.