I like to think of myself as an honest person; some (including my mum) would say I'm TOO honest sometimes and, under normal circumstances, I would virtually break out in hives at the thought of lying. And yet, it gets to this time of year, and I don't just tell a few harmless white lies or a couple of little porkies, oh no. I turn into a pathological liar and the fibs just spew forth from my mouth without a second thought.
Of course it's all for a good cause; that is, the keep the magic of Christmas alive for our children for as long as humanly possible, but I can still never quite get over just how easily it comes to me.
As we prepared the snack last Christmas Eve; My husband: 'Santa doesn't want to drink milk! He'll want whiskey to warm him up!' (Until our seven year old pointed out that you should never drink and drive, whether it's a car on the road or a sleigh and reindeers across the sky.) Quite right.