’Twas the night before California Christmas, when all through the beach bungalow
Not a heater was purring, as no temperatures were low
The stockings were hung by the gas fireplace with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas could fly through the smoky wildfires to get there
The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of avocados danced in their heads
And mama in her Lululemon, and I in my Adidas
Had just settled down to await the birth of baby Jesus
When out on the sand there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my Tempurpedic bed to see what was the matter
Away to the patio I flew like a flash
Tore open the sliding glass door and set down my Kombucha with a crash
Photo via Pixabay
The moon on the breast of the peaceful sea
Gave the world a sparkle, like my lit-up palm trees
When what to my perfectly tan-self did appear
But a massive surfboard and eight grass-fed reindeer
With a little old surfer so chill and so slick
I knew in a moment, it was the Beach Boys’ “Little Saint Nick”
More rapid than celebrity gossip his courses they came
And he hung-loose, throwing up a shaka sign and calling them by name
“Now, DASH! now, Kim! now, Khloe! now, Kourtney!
On, Caitlyn! on, Kris! on, Kendall and Kylie!
To the top of the Hollywood sign! To the top of the mall!
Now DASH away! DASH away! DASH away all!”
As smog that above the freeways rise,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount like Teslas to the skies
So up to the bungalow tops the courses they flew
A recyclable bag full of toys, and St. Nicholas too —
He was dressed in board shorts, sandy from his head to his foot
And his Ray-Bans were all foggy with ashes and soot
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back
He was like a Trader Joes worker, with his bag so well-packed
The man-bun on his head was as tight as fresh Botox
And he was looking skinny and fit from his latest juice detox
The stump of his vape pen he held tight in his teeth
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath
Photo via Pixabay
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a Miley-like twerk
And making his way to my futon with care
He began eating the gluten-free, vegan cookies I had left there
Then he sprang up the chimney, nimble as a spin class-goer
He had to beat morning traffic on the 405, because what could be slower
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight —
“Happy Cali Christmas to all, and to all a rad night!”