Yes, Virginia...

you know the rest, or should ;)

Coming out of Souplantation last night we were walking the kids to the car when The Bunny let out an excited squeal.

"SANTA!!!" she screamed, pointing across the parking lot to where a large, jolly looking fellow with a snowy white beard, a round belly...a red t-shirt? And a fluffy, white headband??? stood next to an old model VW Beetle.

"Santa" locked his car and came over to us so I stepped forward and apologized to him.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm sure you get that a lot."

He smiled and said, "that's because I really am Santa. I'm on vacation." And he took something from a pocket. A stack of...business cards? He held one out and I looked at it, and for some reason I decided to let my son take it. Then "Santa" gave a card to The Bunny, or perhaps Liz took hers and passed it on. The kids took their card excitedly and climbed into the car as Santa rejoined his family and headed into Souplantation.

As my son buckled up his seatbelt I took his card from him and looked at it. It had a picture of Santa's smiling face, complete with red hat and white trim (not just a white headband), and had the caption "Santa sees all".

I flipped it over but the back was blank. No phone number. No email. No website. Nada. It wasn't a business card at all, just...I don't know what it was...something for "Santa" to give to the kids, I guess. I'm sure he caused quite a stir inside Souplantation.

As we pulled out of the parking lot we passed Santa's VW Beetle and I pointed it out to my son. "What's the license plate say?"

He looked at it. "Santa I ?" he said

"Santa One," I corrected. "The letter I is one in Roman Numerals."

Sometimes you need a little magic in your life. They help push out those memories of the time when you were a child and you saw Santa. Of course it wasn't the real Santa but a tubby Garbage Collector with a long beard, who didn't take kindly to you calling out "Hi, Santa!" Which is how you found yourself taking refuge in your mum's car while a very angry "Santa" stood outside, screaming at you through the window.

Fortunately last night's Santa behaved more like the real deal, than the belligerent impostor of my childhood.

If you've got a few years under your belt, and a few extra pounds around your waist, and a long, white beard, I think you should be willing to accept the occasional (or even frequent) case of mistaken identity.

Embrace the Santa.