I am interviewing Santa Claus next week. In actuality I am interviewing the guy who plays Santa at Radio City but instead of calling him by his actual name, I made the mistake of referring to him in character - in front of my 2-year-old. Occasionally I forget that I have a kid. It's rare, and usually only occurs when I encounter cheap airfare to exotic locales, but it does happen.
Toddler: "What you say, mama?"
Toddler: "You said Santa."
Toddler: "You said you are going to talk to Santa."
Me: "Yes. I'm going to be talking to Santa."
Toddler: "What toy he going to bring you?"
Luckily daddy intervened with pizza before the conversation got too tricky. But clearly I need to be more careful lest I inadvertently burst some toddler-sized bubbles. I know some people don't believe in telling their child about Santa, but I have yet to meet a single adult who felt scarred by the discovery. On the other hand, I refuse to let my son visit the Sesame Street set. Finding out that Grover is just a puppet seems much harsher than learning that mom and dad are wrapping the presents.
So yes, I'm interviewing Santa. I'm pretty psyched about it. He seems very nice, I get to hold the interview at Radio City, and I'm getting paid. Triple win. Toss in some tickets to the show (oh please oh please) and I'll be riding high. Ho-Ho-Ho!