Every Monday, I have lunch with a friend in a little diner downtown. It's a classic used to be a railroad diner car with the kitchen added on, in a poor neighborhood, so the food has to be good and cheap and plenty. There is a wide variety of clientele, from the cops to the unfortunate to the senior citizens in their once pristine furs, to people like myself and my friend who try to squeeze a good nosh and natter into a lunch hour.

But last Monday, we had something I hadn't seen before, Santa Claus came for lunch. He had natural long white hair and a real beard, and the suit was old-fashioned with little bells sewn on. It might have even been real fur trimming those cuffs. My friend commented on the gloves - the only serious discord of his outfit- they were black. I quipped that made it easier to handle the coal.

Santa greeted a few of the patrons by name, certainly the servers. So I assumed he was usually a regular there, and just happened to enjoy walking around in the suit. But I don't know. He certainly looked through you than at you, when he greeted you. And he did walk around and greet everyone. He told everyone to be good, and then he left. Without even getting food or coffee.

Now, I did make my usual snotty comment that is a bad habit when told to be good. I say I'd rather be Georg, or I like being Naughty. But Santa smiled at me, and left the diner.

Later, when I left the diner myself, there were more than the usual opportunities to do good deeds - the lady in the electric wheelchair who needed eggs from the fridge, letting the handicapped plaque car have that fantastic spot near the front (that wasn't flagged as handicapped), and several other things. I took the chances as they came, and I spread happy thoughts, and I felt good about it. Normally, shopping this close to Christmas leaves me in nothing but snarls and a cloud of foul mood surrounds me, and I come home exhausted and grumpy and just not fit for company. Not this time though.

I blame Santa. In the best possible way.  ¶ 6:47 PM