Get the Kleenex

I got an e-mail this evening from my friend Caran that started with one phrase: "Get the Kleenex". This opening line was followed by a forwarded e-mail. With a heading like that, I couldn't resist. So, I grabbed a tissue (actually I grabbed a handful, just in case) and scrolled down.

There was the nicest story about a little boy who went to see Santa Claus at the mall. He brought with him a photo of his sister, because she wanted so badly to be with Santa, but she was in the hospital and not expected to survive lukemia.

Santa agreed to go visit the girl after his shift at the mall. The department store assistant manager drove him to the children's hospital where little Sarah got her Christmas wish and sat and chatted with Santa.

Old Kris Kringle choked back tears as he hugged the poor little girl, whose hair was falling out, but whose spirit was still strong. Before he left, he prayed with her and her family, and made her promise to get better and come see him next year at the mall. Then, he left and he and his boss had a good cry.

Next Christmas, a girl sat on his lap and introduced herself as Sarah, the girl from the cancer ward at the hospital last year. Dear old Santa cried, and thanked Jesus for answering his prayers. It was such a touching story.

But I still don't understand why Caran advised me to get Kleenex before reading that story. There was no porn in that e-mail. Unless Caran forgot to attach the porn.

NO PORN! This is why I hate Christmas.

Llove,

Lloyd