Long ago, in a distant and faraway land known as West Germany, my parents brought an unplanned, "surprise" baby into the world. That baby was me.
Two weeks later, they dressed their older child in a pair of plaid pants that were incredibly stylish at the time, and took the children together to see a Santa Claus who, based on his glasses, appears to be a poor hapless private from my dad's platoon forced into doing this at the company Christmas party.
Obviously, I hate Santa:
No wonder I never got that GI Joe aircraft carrier for Christmas. You never get a second chance to make a first impression, and clearly I made a bad one on Santa.