Getting Away From Santa’s Claws

(I’m 12 years old. My mother and I are in a store I dislike for its workers, environment, and general look and feel. We’re getting food for a Christmas party, when:)

Guy Dressed as Santa: “Wanna sit on my lap?”

(I’m too stunned to speak, so I just smile blankly while my mom says:)

Mom: “Maybe next time.”

Santa: “We can take your picture and put it up in your school!”

Mom & Me: “Uh…”

(Yeah, we got out of there really quickly, and the next time I went there, he was gone.)