When I was a wee girl I believed in Santa.
One lovely Christmas season I started to worry that my actions of the previous year were maybe a little less than nice perhaps.
I went to my mother who was cooking din din in the kitchen like any good mother would be doing at that time, and I asked her if coal stains.
Yes. Coal stains.
You may imagine my devastation when I heard this. I had a beautiful, beautiful white stocking with an adorable kitten on the front. I knew when Santa placed that wretched piece of coal inside, it would be ruined forever.
There was only one thing I could do.
I went to the living room couch and prayed my little heart out. I apologized for all the bad things I had done that year and promised I would be really good for the rest of the year and I would be so nice and so obedient and I was so so sorry and please please please don't let Santa ruin my stocking with a black piece of coal.
He didn't.
Praying works.
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