‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all ‘round Bellevue.

Kids were waiting for the fat guy to come down the flue.

The stawkings were hung by the chimney with care,

(Can you spot the preceding sentence’s spelling error?)

The children were nestled with Snuggies in their beds,

While visions of Dick’s fries danced in their heads.

Plus dreams about cool stuff like Let’s Rock Elmo’s,

Transformers, Angry Birds, Barbies and Legos.

My wife in her negligee, and me in my whitey-tighties,

Were just climbing into bed, saying our “Nighty-nighties.”

When out in the yard arose such commotion and glare,

As if Justin Bieber had shown up to sing at Bel-Square.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tripped over the cat and fell on my … lower back.

Finally I saw what had interrupted our sleep,

It was St. Nick and his reindeer, all lying in a heap.

Not taking the time to bother to dress,

I ran outside in my briefs to look at the mess.

Nick looked a bit ticked, not saying a word,

He seemed to be shaken, but not seriously stirred.

The reindeer looked like eight tiny nervous wrecks,

Dasher and Dancer were dazed, and Vixen vexed.

I said, “What happened here, oh jolly St. Nick?”

He said, “Don’t stand so close, I’m rather air-sick.

But I’d feel much better if you think there’s a chance,

You could go back inside and put on some pants?”

I did what he asked and soon his nausea passed,

And then St. Nick began to explain things at last:

“We were just flying along not far from Puyallup,

When Blitzen’s right rear leg began to cramp all up.

He began to stagger, the sleigh started to roll,

And before we knew it, we were out of control.

We cart wheeled like crazy, dangerously tiltin’

We bounced off of Tacoma and almost nicked Milton,

We started whirling and twirling, losing our power.

Sailing over Lake Washington toward Meydenbauer.

I struggled in vain to bring our mad ride to a halt,

But it only resulted in a Somerset somersault.

We gave Newport Hills a pretty big shock,

Then skipped over Lake Sammamish like a big, flat rock.

We swung back toward Bellevue College,

Just missing the campus to the best of my knowledge.

Things got roughest somewhere up near Medina,

Cupid bumped his head and would up with a shina.

We came frighteningly close to an end-of-ride spill,

Doing a series of corkscrews right over Clyde Hill.

Near the 520 bridge we started going down fast,

And I hadn’t yet ordered my “Good to Go” pass.

Then we bounded for blocks, flying high and headlong,

Until plopping down here – on your mole-riddled lawn.”

By now his tale was over, and Santa was itching to leave.

“I’ve many more stops to make on this fine Christmas Eve.”

Cupid’s eye was much better – Blitzen’s cramp was all gone.

The toy bag was reloaded – it was time to move on.

Santa sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew – fast as a Boeing missile.

But they’d soon regret barreling away quite so fast.

‘As they headed straight for Tacoma’s Museum of Glass.

Pat Cashman can be reached at pat@patcashman.com.