Something happened on the way to his workshop . . .

Meet Santa. He's been adorning our home for the past six or so holiday seasons. Santa was a gift, and I've always enjoyed having him around. I like how Santa is sporting his casual flannels and patched-knee pants and how he has taken a few moments for himself to do some sledding before heading back to the workshop for more of that holiday grind.

Though I do love my Santa, I admit I don't worry about him much in the off-season. As with the rest of my holiday decorations (except the most fragile ornaments--they get some special care), I just wrap a leftover plastic grocery bag around him and toss him into one of the green and red bins.

I guess last year I must have done an especially crappy job wrapping Santa up. The only thing I can figure is that he must have rubbed up against another painted holiday knick knack.


Unfortunately, the end result is truly a sinister knick knack paddy WHACK.

Look more closely at the fresh snow at Santa's feet? Do you see what I see? The snow is flecked with bright red blood . . . blood that was not there when I opened Santa six years ago.

Sure, I can cleverly move Santa's sled about in an effort to camouflage the crime scene, but at a certain point, Bub is going to notice.

What am I going to say when he asks why Santa is tracking blood through the snow. Ruldolph had a bloody nose? Dancer's in heat? One of the elves wasn't getting it done? Mrs. Claus got lippy?

I don't have any answers, but I do know that the more I look at the blood at Santa's feet, the more reluctant I am to wrap presents tonight as planned. Seems doing Santa's work can be dangerous.