“Ho ho ho, young missy,” the in-store Santa cried.

“Sit here upon my lap and we can have a chat.”

“I’m not to talk to men,” said Grace, turning aside.

“Besides there is no room, your belly is too fat.”

“Pray tell me who you are,” said Santa, from his script.

“I’ll check the lists I have, to see whether you’re nice.”

“I’m not to give my name,” said Grace in accent clipped.

“My mum says to speak naught, though you may ask me twice.”

“What shall I bring for you, when down your flue I go?

A teddy bear or doll?  Some Playdough or a book?”

“I’m not to accept gifts from those I do not know.

I will not sit nor speak, I should not even look.”

“But I am Santa Claus, no normal rules apply.

Just tell me what you want, so Mum knows what to get.”

“Strangers are wicked all, my mummy would not lie.”

Grace folded up her arms, her jaw she firmly set.

“Listen here, you … angel, get one thing crystal clear:

You can have a toy or clouts around the ear.”

“I see my mum was right, do not strangers go near!

You’re not the jolly elf of whom so much I hear.”

“But I’ll have a doll, thank you.”