A Very Zeitgeisty Christmas

Christmas. Some time in the future.
“Grandpa, Grandpa, Tell me about Christmases past.”
“Of course little Billy. Come and sit down by the HoloFire and we’ll begin. 'Twas the night before Christmas in the year 2024…”
…and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even the Alexa smart speaker. Then a creature stirred. From the smallest bedroom came a creak as little Tabitha got out of bed and snuck downstairs to wait for Santa. Keeping to the sides of the stairs to avoid making a noise and waking the house Tabitha crept through the house into the lounge. She wasn’t quiet enough though to avoid disturbing Iggy the family Italian Greyhound from coming to investigate, and even though he determined there wasn’t going to be any food decided to stick around anyway.
As Tabitha and Iggy padded through the lounge she saw the mince pie and glass of milk that they had put out before bedtime and knew Santa hadn’t come yet. She found a hiding place behind Daddy’s Peloton bike. Creeping behind it she sneezed as she disturbed all the dust on it. Iggy came and hunkered down beside her as they waited.
They’d both fallen asleep when the series of thuds came from outside. Jumping up Tabitha knew this was it. She stared at the fireplace in readiness. First there was a trickle of soot. Then a rumbling. Then it appeared. A giant glorious bag of presents landed in the fireplace. Then it disappeared again, then it returned. Then gone. Back. Gone. Back. Mesmerised Tabitha and Iggy looked on as the bag of presents dropped on a rope, then were heaved back up repeatedly.
Finally the presents landed and they could hear a low, heavy breathing. Then a rustling and suddenly there was Santa standing full height on the rug in front of the fireplace. Tabitha couldn’t contain her gasp, It was Santa like she’d had never seen before.
Standing six foot six in his Prada boots this was not the Santa of old. He did still have a red suit on but rather than the pyjama like outfit of yore this was a slim fit, italian cut double breasted suit in red with white piping at the edges set off with a Gucci belt. Where once was Santa’s trademark large wobbly belly was now a flat stomach that must have been a present for Mrs Claus. Above that Santa was a fully inverted triangle, filling out the padded shoulders of his suit magnificently. The beard that usually resembled an explosion in a pillow factory was now neatly trimmed with the moustache waxed and curled upwards at the ends. On his head was a fedora of such exaggeration it looked like a witches hat in a wind tunnel. It too was red with a white band around it. Tabitha couldn’t believe this was Santa. She ran across to the window to look for his sleigh and reindeer to be sure. Santa saw her through his thick framed clear lensed Raybans.
Santa’s sleigh was out there alright. But rather than the ornate Victorian looking thing, as seen on wrapping paper, it was low and sleek. It looked like a Maserati and was painted candy apple red. Rudolph and his coworkers had also retired. In their place stood twelve magnificent thoroughbred racehorses. Santa had had a hell of a job getting them to work together but he persevered and now he had a sleigh that could do a standing quarter mile in ten seconds.
Tabitha couldn’t believe her eyes, even Iggy looked confused, The sleigh, the red suit, beard, presents. All the pieces were there but they fit together in a way that was completely different to everything she had heard about Santa Claus. She did the only thing she could think of to do.
“What’s going on Santa?”
Last year had been a bad one for Santa. He’d had this thought over the last century or so that he was letting himself go. He worked hard and snacked often, he was on the move a lot after all. He wore comfortable clothes for his frame and a bit of panting if he had to climb multiple stairs wasn’t the end of the world. That might have been that if it hadn’t been for the non stop fat shaming.
Every year from about mid October was a retail onslaught of cards, advent calendars, wrapping paper and chocolate boxes all showing him as morbidly obese. It really irked Santa. How hard he worked, or that he was an excellent elf employer barely got a mention but his gut was always talked about. Apparently to the world at large it ‘wobbled like a big bowl of jelly’ and he ‘laughed heartily and rubbed his big belly’. Santa had never done that. To think people thought of him going round rubbing his belly like some sort of pervert! Belly, belly, belly. That’s all he was to these people, and they enabled him by leaving out mince pies for him, then laughed at him for it.
Last Christmas was the last straw. As he’d finished his rounds he stopped in at an all night petrol station to get a pasty. Next to the tills was a display of Christmas cards. One in particular caught his eye. It was a drawing of him with a massive distended belly laying on a tiny sleigh that had splintered beneath his mass. All around him were drawings of exhausted looking reindeer. The caption on the card said something like ‘Happy Christmas you fat git, at least you’re not as fat as Santa’. Santa went bright red with embarrassment. He put the pasty back and hurriedly left the shop deciding there and then to do something about it.
After one final Christmas dinner. A big blowout with all the trimmings Santa set to work. January saw him criss-crossing the North Pole, Shirtless and pulling a tyre behind him on a rope. February saw him doing chin ups in his grotto’s barn. March was leg month, Santa went everywhere doing squats. April saw Santa doing bicep curls on an iceberg (this was proving to be montage dynamite). May came and Santa was beginning to see signs of progress. He no longer huffed and puffed going uphill. His belly was smaller and his chest bigger. He bicycle crunched his way through June, and shadow boxed July. August was when he picked up GQ magazine. His new figure was svelte and he didn’t want to wear his comfy ‘fat clothes’ anymore. His low level depression about his body left him feeling unworthy of wearing nice clothes but now he wanted to show it all off. September, October and November passed in a blur of exercise and suit fittings. In homage to his favourite film: Rocky (Sylvester Stallone was always a good boy) he had his elves warm up for the Christmas rush by building him a set of replica steps like the ones used in the film. Santa loved to run up them and do a victory dance at the top. He couldn’t wait to see the Christmas cards this year.
As December came around he threw himself into his work with renewed vigour, and that’s how the male model version of Santa came to be standing there in Tabitha’s lounge on Christmas eve. After proving his identity by giving her everything that she’d asked for for Christmas (A toy pony, a Playstation 5 with Grand Theft Auto 6, a dinosaur, and the encyclopedia Britannica) Santa gave Tabitha a message to pass onto the world, and that’s what she duly did. So that’s the story of why we always leave out a protein shake and a granola bar for Santa on Christmas eve and why all the good boys and girls never skip leg day.
The End.
Happy Christmas Billy.
“Wow, Happy Christmas Grandpa.”