Mrs Claus Quotes

Miss Bri-Bri has designed a gazillion booty-ful dresses for very famous and important people, like Princess Sugar Plum, Selena Gomez, Beyoncé, and Mrs. Claus! And

Tilli stroked her Chihuahua. Max’s heart made a sound like the sleigh bells on Mrs. Santa Claus’s dildo.

To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: HAPPY CHRISTMAS Have you gotten used to the time difference? Bloody hell,I can't sleep. I'd call,but I don't know if you're awake or doing the family thing or what. The bay fog is so thick that I can't see out my window.But if I could, I am quite certain I'd discover that I'm the only person alive in San Francisco. To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: I forgot to tell you. Yesterday I saw a guy wearing an Atlanta Film Festival shirt at the hospital.I asked if he knew you,but he didn't.I also met an enormous,hair man in a cheeky Mrs. Claus getup. he was handing out gifts to the cancer patients.Mum took the attached picture. Do I always look so startled? To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: Are you awake yet? Wake up.Wake up wake up wake up. To: Etienne St. Clair From: Anna Oliphant Subject: re: Are you awake yet? I'm awake! Seany started jumping on my bed,like,three hours ago. We've been opening presents and eating sugar cookies for breakfast. Dad gave me a gold ring shaped like a heart. "For Daddy's sweetheart," he said. As if I'm the type of girl who'd wear a heart-shaped ring. FROM HER FATHER. He gave Seany tons of Star Wars stuff and a rock polishing kit,and I'd much rather have those.I can't beleive Mom invited him here for Christmas. She says it's because their divorce is amicable (um,no) and Seany and I need a father figure in our lives,but all they ever do is fight.This morning it was about my hair.Dad wants me to dye it back, because he thinks I look like a "common prostitute," and Mom wants to re-bleach it.Like either of them has a say. Oops,gotta run.My grandparents just arrived,and Granddad is bellowing for his bonnie lass.That would be me. P.S. Love the picture.Mrs. Claus is totally checking out your butt. And it's Merry Christmas, weirdo. To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: HAHAHA@ Was it a PROMISE RING? Did your father give you a PROMISE RING? To: Etienne St. Clair From: Anna Oliphant Subject: Re: HAHAHA! I am so not responding to that.

Why did Santa divorce Mrs. Claus?” “I don’t know, why did she?” Riley asks. “He was obsessed with getting the cookie.

Max’s heart made a sound like the sleigh bells on Mrs. Santa Claus’s dildo.

tiny doesn't just sing these words - he belts them. it's like a parade coing out of his mouth. i have no doubt the words travel over lake michigan to most of canada and on to the north pole. the farmers of saskatchewan are crying. santa is turning to mrs. claus and saying 'what the fuck is that? - will grayson

Dear Santa and his badass wife, Mrs. Claus. Please let the super hot guy from Shae’s old job sweep her off her feet and give her the dicking of a lifetime, just in time for Christmas. In Frosty’s name, amen.

then.” “I can't go back to the handlebar. As much as I'd love to. People expect the beard.” Mrs. Claus sat down, growing frustrated. “No one sees you anyway. Who cares what they expect?

the handlebar. As much as I'd love to. People expect the beard.” Mrs. Claus sat down, growing frustrated. “No one sees you anyway. Who cares what they expect?

But in 1621 the Puritan leaders decreed that Christmas would not be celebrated at all in Plymouth.

Christmas was not officially restored as a full holiday in Scotland until 1958.

.​Explanation 2.​A Message from the Principal 3.​Poetry 4.​Doctor Pickle 5.​A Story with a Disappointing Ending 6.​Pet Day 7.​A Bad Word 8.​Santa Claus 9.​Something Different about Mrs. Jewls 10.​Mr. Gorf 11.​Voices 12.​Nose 13.​The New Teacher 14.​A Light Bulb, a Pencil Sharpener, a Coffeepot, and a Sack of Potatoes 15.​An Elephant in Wayside School 16.​Mr. Poop 17.​Why the Children Decided They Had to Get Rid of Mrs. Drazil 18.​The Blue Notebook 19.​Time Out 20.​Elevators 21.​Open Wide 22.​Jane Smith 23.​Ears 24.​Glum and Blah 25.​Guilty 26.​Never Laugh at a Shoelace 27.​Way-High-Up Ball 28.​Flowers for a Very Special Person 29.​Stupid 30.​The Little Stranger

For the first time, Cassie noticed how much the woman resembled Mrs. Claus. “You’re new in town?” Her question sounded rhetorical. “Yes, I am.

As his gaze landed on the man on the gurney, Dr. Hershey’s eyes began to unexpectedly well up with tears. He moved forward, his hand coming to rest on the patient’s forearm. The old man’s blue eyes opened and made contact with the doctor’s. From somewhere, deep inside Dr. Hershey’s mind, the remnants of the little boy he used to be bubbled to the forefront as he stared at a hero. “Santa,” he whispered with reverence. Santa mouthed something, but the oxygen mask, along with his weakness, made him impossible to hear. Mrs. Claus stepped forward. “He said, Jacob Hershey, always on the nice list.

The old man’s blue eyes opened and made contact with the doctor’s. From somewhere, deep inside Dr. Hershey’s mind, the remnants of the little boy he used to be bubbled to the forefront as he stared at a hero. “Santa,” he whispered with reverence.

Jacob nodded. “I think I’m cursed.” “Not cursed,” Santa said. “Just incredibly unlucky.

Stephanie lifted her head and gave Joy a look of warning that belied the pain simmering just underneath the surface. “Because he’s Erin’s. He’s hers. And, yes, I’ve accepted a lot of her hand-me-downs in my life, but I draw the line at hand-me-down husbands. She and I, we had a pact. We don’t share men, period.

And am I about to get railed like some kind of dirty porn starring Mrs. Claus and her elves?

Where are your pajamas?” she asks us. “Um. Wearing em,” I say, pointing down at the ridiculous pants. “You’re supposed to wear the whole ensemble,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Now you don’t look like Santa, just…” she chews on her lip as her eyes roam over the four of us. “Just what, angel?” Conor asks. “Just four super hot…” She waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. I can work with it,” she adds with a soft sigh. “But what the hell are you wearing, baby?” my twin asks as she walks toward the four of us. “I’m Mrs. Claus,” she whispers.

After breakfast, the gentlemen went shooting, Aunt Saffronia was busy with the mute servants, and Miss Heartwright was still at the cottage, leaving Jane and Miss Charming alone in the morning room. They stared at the brown-flecked wallpaper. “I’m so bored. This isn’t what Mrs. Wattlesbrook promised me yesterday.” “We could play whist,” Jane said. “Whist in the morning, whist in the evening, ain’t we got fun?” The wallpaper hadn’t changed. Jane kept an eye on it all the same. “I mean, is this what you expected?” asked Miss Charming. Jane glanced at the lamp, wondering if Mrs. Wattlesbrook had it bugged. “I am Jane Erstwhile, niece of Lady Templeton, visiting from America,” she said robotically. “Well, I can’t take another minute. I’m going to go find that Miss Heartwreck and see what she thinks.” Jane’s gaze jumped from wall to window, and she watched for hints of the men out in the fields, wondering if Captain East thought her pretty, if Colonel Andrews liked her better than Miss Charming. Stop it, she told herself. And then she thought about Mr. Nobley last night, his odd outburst, his insistence on dancing with her, and then his abrupt withdrawal after one dance. He truly was exasperating. But, she considered, he irritated in a very useful way. The dream of Mr. Darcy was tangling in the unpleasant reality of Mr. Nobley. As she gave herself pause to breathe in that idea, the truth felt as obliterating as her no Santa Claus discovery at age eight. There is no Mr. Darcy. Or more likely, Mr. Darcy would actually be a boring, pompous pinhead.

Ooh!” Willy pipes up. “Maybe he'll write a story about Santa and Mrs. Claus getting caught with their pants down with other people. If we get lucky, maybe he'll kill-” “Don't finish that sentence, elf.” “Randy, you're such a spoilsport. You can't say you haven't conjured up that scenario in your big head a time or a dozen. Continue. Maybe I'll write that story.” “No, you won't. Your idea of a good story is nothing but sex, sex, and more sex. You'd never make it through writing a chapter because you'd have to stop and jerk off a half dozen times.” “Ew! Not about Santa and Mrs. Claus. Yuck,” Willy comes back at him with a sour look on his face. “That's not even funny, Randy.

Santa might emit a field from his beard that makes people miss him, the elves might have a machine that causes light to bend, or I could have met him and then been convinced by Mrs. Claus to undergo brain surgery that erased my memory.

12   One Christmas, Santa was having a really bad day. The local elves union was up in arms over their contract and were threatening a walk-out. Mrs. Clause was pissed that Santa was never around to appreciate all of the hard work she had been doing around the house. Santa decided he needed to go home, sit in front of a fire and relax. When he got there, Miss Clause was all up in his face and wouldn't let down. Then, there was a knock on the door. It was Rudolph. He said the reindeer were sick and tired of Santa not upgrading to the new lightweight sleigh and they were joining the elves walkout. Santa slammed the door and threatened "The next person who knocks on that door is going to get it!" At that time, there was a knock on the door. Santa flung the door open and there stood a tiny little angel. The angel had been searching for the perfect Christmas tree for Santa's house all day long, until it found the perfect one. The little angel asked, "Santa, I was wondering where you would like me to stick this tree?" And that is the story of how the angel atop the tree tradition began.

was spending the time with his wife in Florida. He sighed again. “What's the matter,” his wife, Mrs. Claus, asked. “It's this beard.” He turned away from the mirror. “It's driving me crazy.” “What? I thought you liked the beard.” He stroked it thoughtfully. “I do, I suppose. It's just that it's so hot out. This thing is so stifling and itchy and I just want to get rid of it.” “So shave it,” said Mrs. Claus. “I can't.” “Oh, why?

I love to read. Rom-coms, sports romance, traumances. Romance of any kind really. I love forgetting that I’m reading, like I’m in the story, in the book, so intently in the moment that I forget who I really am. No other feeling relates to being completely lost in a book,

You can’t poke Mrs. Claus in the boob.” “Why not? You poked me in the stomach.” “I poked a pillow.” “So did I.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. Unless you’ve somehow turned into Dolly Parton in the last ten minutes.” “You look more like Mrs. Doubtfire than Mrs. Claus.

Do you really not see any of the living Hummels? The talking tree?” He collapsed onto the floor, his shaky legs finally giving out on him. Tears dripped from his eyes onto the carpet, next to blood droplets coming from his nostril. “Am I going crazy?” Mrs. Claus frowned, her eyebrows drooping. “No, Tim. You’re not going crazy. Yes, I know all about the Christmas magic.” “Why would you lie to me?” Tim asked between gasping breaths. “I’m sorry for lying. I wanted to share something special with you, but I was afraid.” “Afraid?” Mrs. Claus knelt and pressed some gauze against Tim’s bleeding nose. “I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you would bring others over to see me, and then my secret would be out. You have to understand, Christmas magic is a very special thing. It’s not for everyone.

cross their open sky. “Now!” “Mason.” “Mason, what?” “Mason Shaw!” “And who am I?” It was hard to resist a sarcastic answer to that one. Mrs. Claus. Abraham Lincoln. My partner. My lover. Jeremiah the Reefer Thief. But Dakota’s face with those intense eyebrows told him to speak straight. What he didn’t understand, she very much did. And though she’d never admit as much, she was terrified by it.  “Dakota. Dakota Ward. Former internal affairs for USPD, now director of intake for the Revival Corporation’s privatized HRO 22, Union Station, California. What do I win?”  She blinked but said nothing. It looked like a reserved comment held for later. Then she startled yet again at something above them that Mason couldn’t see and ducked back without answering.  Dakota planted one foot on a box then sprung upward with her arms extended overhead. She grabbed a machine just above the gutter — a giant thing, churning in her grip like the deck of a running lawnmower. She used gravity and her core to pike the thing downward, driving it hard against the concrete with a devastating crack. The machine sputtered before slowing. Dakota popped a compartment on its back, one she’d clearly known where to find. Its lights died, and the hulk became a hunk of dead metal. Dakota threw something ― whatever she’d yanked from its innards ― away with a clatter.  “Is that a prison drone?” Mason asked, gawking. “How … How did you …

were fighting to the death over a soggy pizza crust. “Doesn’t look that impressive,” Mike observed. We all hopped out of the cab and hurried through a light drizzle to the employee entrance. There was a small foyer where another guard was on duty, controlling a second set of secure, alarmed doors. The guard observed the arrival of our wet, improperly dressed group with concern until Catherine breezed through the door. Then her face lit up as though she were a small child who had just found Santa Claus coming down the chimney. “My stars, Mrs. Hale! It’s been far too long since you’ve graced this entrance.” “It certainly has, Lizette,” Catherine agreed. “My work in the States has taken

For rich people, holiday festivities were only beginning on December 25. They would continue enjoying feasts and gifts through Epiphany on January 6—these were the twelve days of Christmas. Poor people went back to work on December 26.

Minutes later, he and Mrs. Claus were in the air, headed for Sweden behind a team of young back-up reindeer. "Now, Pac-Man! Now, Disco! Now, Yoda and Vader!" Mrs. Claus called out, giving the reins a gentle snap. "On, Ford! On Carter! On, Alda and Nader!

But what if she acted like a credit card company? What if she stopped calling when the bill was due? What if, in very fine print in her very long contract, she said she would bill them $750 for every day that they were past due and after 15 days she would automatically charge their credit card on file? Only she didn’t write out the $750. Instead, she calculated it down to a percentage of their total fee, which seemed such a minuscule amount. Less than 1 percent, really. So that even when people did bother to read the clause, they usually shrugged, the amount seeming so nominal. She thought the idea so bold when she implemented it, she was certain she would lose clients or have wild fights about it when her invoices went out. Instead, she discovered something else about the ultra-rich. The only thing they enjoyed less than parting with their money was talking about it. It seemed to physically pain them. She had one person ask what the fee was and as soon as she explained that they could refer to item 26a in their contract they apologized, said they would FedEx a check, and hung up the phone. The Eikenborns were particularly reticent to talk about bills or budgets or anything of that sort, yet maniacally uninclined to spend a penny, Olga noticed, on other human beings. Mrs. Eikenborn delightfully coughed up cash for luxury bathroom trailers, fine wine, freshly shucked oysters, Kobe beef steaks, and custom tuxedos for Victoria’s two dogs. Yet, she balked at the cost of feeding the staff who installed the tents and lighting, proclaimed outrage at the photographer’s need for breaks, and once booked Olga on a double layover to save $200 on a $750,000 event.

Rocko just has to go.

The Evergreen Christmas Party" Once upon a time, in a snowy forest, there was a cozy log cabin. Mr. and Mrs. Evergreen lived there, and they loved Christmas. Every year, they had a big Christmas party for all the children in the village. One day, the first snowflakes of winter began to fall. The children were so excited! They put on their warm hats, scarves, and mittens and grabbed their sleds. They raced down a snowy hill, laughing and having fun. Inside the cabin, Mrs. Evergreen was baking cookies and making hot cocoa. The smell was delicious! She decorated a big Christmas tree with shiny lights and colorful ornaments. Mr. Evergreen was busy getting a special chair ready for a surprise guest. As the sun went down, the children came to the cabin. They were greeted by the warm glow of the lights and the yummy smell of cookies. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Mr. Evergreen opened it, and there stood Santa Claus! The children were amazed. Santa came inside and listened to the children’s Christmas wishes. He gave them gifts and told them stories about the North Pole. Everyone sang Christmas songs and danced. It was the best party ever! When it was time to go, Santa waved goodbye and promised to come back next year. The children watched as Santa’s sleigh flew into the night sky, feeling happy and full of Christmas magic. From that day on, the Evergreen Christmas party was the best part of the year. Everyone in the village looked forward to it, knowing it would be filled with love, joy, and a little bit of magic.

TRIPLETS? Saries gave this woman he barely knew triplets?

BOTH CAN’T BE TRUE, SARIES! You can’t claim you love me while trying to marry someone else!” “You my WIFE, Charismia! We gonna ALWAYS be together! I’m just doing this so my son ain’t a bastard!

Long as I still come home to you it shouldn’t matter what I’m doing, right?

Our garage was full of luxury vehicles in addition to the reindeer my husband was known for traveling and delivering items in.

They say the wrong man will always be unconsciously attracted to the unhealed part of you, and that’s why I confused us with love.

No one believed she’d gotten pregnant by Santa Claus.

Ok, ahkay,” I snickered a second time. “Where you staying? How long will y’all be here?” “Saries said we can stay here,” she cheesed coyly.

Slap me, get the whip…tie me up. Whatever you think is best is what I’ll accept.” “Saries, are you serious?” “In this space, I’m no longer Saries. I’m your slave and you are my mistress,” he mumbled, still rubbing my thigh.

He’d pick up my latex suits from the cleaners while wearing his collar, and sent me nasty text messages every day at exactly 3 p.m. If he was a minute late, he got the whip.

Where you think he getting the money to buy toys for kids in the whole world though?” Beatrice wondered aloud as the butcher passed her a package of meat.

Mmm…ain’t nothing wrong with your size, love,” the older man rubbed my back, a little softer now. “I like my women with something to hold on to.” He leaned a little closer to whisper in my ear. “Plus, big girls got that wet-wet, don’t y’all?

Charismia, I heard about your story on TikTok, and the poster said your body count was close to one thousand.

Mrs. Claus and Saint Valentine shouldn’t be killing people, according to the legal system,

Lemme get this straight: Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’s song came from Santa Claus getting gawked up by some Finnish woman?

Who is “her”? Gran? Viola? Originally, Viola was my nanny, but when I turned six, we had “the chat.” “Vi, you know I adore you, but really, who needs a nanny at six?” Viola of course agreed, and from that point she enthusiastically assumed the titles of housekeeper and best friend. Some say Viola reminds them of Mrs. Claus, but that’s judging a book by its cover. Imagine a cracking good baker meets a squat Agatha Christie. That’s Viola. My attempt to think of Viola instead of the warning posters fails. The words shout at me. Careless Talk Costs Lives. I swallow what I believe

If he knew about her stash of steamy romances, would he talk to her in that way? Mrs. Claus has a sinking feeling that the answer is yes, he’d judge her just the same.