Dash & Lily's Book of Dares Read Online Free PDF Page B

toy-carving tools at that point, because it might have been a very different day at Macy’s if he had.
    “Well, well, well,” Santa said once the elf had retreated. “Come and sit on my lap, little boy.”
    This Santa’s beard was real, and so was his hair. He wasn’t fucking around.
    “I’m not really a little boy,” I pointed out.
    “Get on my lap, then, big boy .”
    I walked up to him. There wasn’t much lap under his belly. And even though he tried to disguise it, as I went up there, I swear he adjusted his crotch.
    “Ho ho ho!” he chortled.
    I sat gingerly on his knee, like it was a subway seat with gum on it.
    “Have you been a good little boy this year?” he asked.
    I didn’t feel that I was the right person to determine my own goodness or badness, but in the interest of speeding along this encounter, I said yes.
    He actually wobbled with joy.
    “Good! Good! Then what can I bring you this Christmas?”
    I thought it was obvious.
    “A message from Lily,” I said. “That’s what I want for Christmas. But I want it right now.”
    “So impatient!” Santa lowered his voice and whispered in my ear. “But Santa does have a little something for you”—he shifted a little in his seat—“right under his coat. If you want to have your present, you’ll have to rub Santa’s belly.”
    “What?” I asked.
    He gestured with his eyes down to his stomach. “Go ahead.”
    I looked closely and saw the faint outline of an envelope beneath his red velvet coat.
    “You know you want it,” he whispered.
    The only way I could survive this was to think of it as the dare it was.
    Fuck off, Lily. You can’t intimidate me .
    I reached right under Santa’s coat. To my horror, I found he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. It was hot, sweaty, fleshy, hairy … and his belly was this massive obstacle, blocking me from the envelope. I had to lean over to angle my arm in order to reach it, the whole time having Santa laugh, “Oh ho ho, ho ho oh ho!” in my ear. I heard the elf scream, “What the hell!” and various parents start to shriek. Yes, I was feeling up Santa. And now the corner of the envelope was in my hand. He tried to jiggle it away from me, but I held tight and yanked it out, pulling some of his white belly hair with me. “OW ho ho!” he cried. I jumped off his lap. “Security’s here!” the elf proclaimed. The letter was in my hand, damp but intact. “He touched Santa!” a young child squealed.
    I ran. I bobbed. I weaved. I propelled myself through the tourists until I was safe in menswear, sheltered in a changing room. I dried my hand and the envelope on a purple velour tracksuit that someone had left behind, then opened it to reveal Lily’s next words.
8. That’s the spirit!
Now, all I want for Christmas
(or December 22nd)
is your best Christmas memory .
I also want my red notebook back ,
so leave it, with your memory included ,
in my stocking on the second floor .
    I opened to the first available blank page in the Moleskine and started to write.
    My best Christmas was when I was eight. My parents had just split up, and they told me I was really lucky, because this year I was going to get two Christmases instead of one. They called it Australian Christmas, because I would get presents at my mom’s place one evening and at my dad’s place the next morning, and it would be okay because they would both be Christmas Day in Australia. This sounded great to me, and I honestly felt lucky. Two Christmases! They went all out, too. Full dinners, all the relatives from each side at each Christmas. They must have split my Christmas list down the middle, because I got everything I wanted, and no duplication. Then my father, on the second night, made the big mistake. I was up late, way too late, and everyone else had gone home. He was drinking something brown-gold—probably brandy—and he pulled me to his side and asked me if I liked having two Christmases. I told him yes, and he told me