Secret Santa.

In a land far, far away, it was supposed to be that most magical time of the year. But it was on-trend to browse online for lifehacks, even for grey, obese gentlemen like Santa. Over there at the North Pole, google support groups took the place of men's sheds, tribal bonding, and networking.

"You're really okay, whatever happens today, you'll be okay. But if you are driving, wear a seat belt. Plus do not mess with truckers and busers, they forget to suck it upper!" Santa looked and double checked, surely the AI generated men's coaching service was only kidding.

"That's good advice, dear," Mrs. Santa was peering over his shoulder to say, "It's about time you had a seat belt on that annual sleigh ride. It is the main event of the global festive season. You are supposed to be a role model to all the present and future children of our world. Have you got time to take the sled to install a seat belt? Safety is vital."

Santa sighed, and wished she would not go on and on. He could practically write in advance his once lovely bride's next script. He realised he was her one and only audience, so he did not hold his breath. Mrs. Santa opened her wide mouth to utter her usual.

"Dad needs feeding and changing, I am busy cooking. Those naughty elves are being disobedient, you can enrol them in a military academy after the New Year, if I agree to keep them all here that long. Let alone feed them. By the way, the leader of all those furry reindeer says he wishes to present a petition. I do not know what this is about, very uppity and rude he was. You can sort all that. Plus the Christmas Fairy has nicked off interstate, just when I need a helping hand."

Santa reluctantly switched off his laptop. He realised that the northern nights were really drawing in. His wife's father had senile dementia, so the Santa couple had nobly said they would nurse him at home. Nursing home beds were hideously expensive. The old timer was quite placid, but had regular ageing issues. He kept batting on, a good doer, and determined to make it to a 100. Or more.

Santa knew better than to moan to Mrs. Santa. She was at her wit's end with the elves, as well as the rising costs involved in food for everyone in their compound, including the reindeer.

Santa sighed after saying, "Yes, dear," and exited the computer room. He had been about to research more tips on handling being the sandwich generation. He had, quite naturally, spent some time merely gazing at some good looking chicks in their nudie rudies, but that only when his wife was in another room. "The sandwich Santa, that's all I am," he told herself. as he did the evening care routine for old Elmer.

Santa felt like any fat older male, never a minute to enjoy his golden years. He did not know how to rekindle his long vanished love life with Mrs. Santa. Looking in the mirror as he dressed was not a positive plan for either of this couple. Santa had his secret Santa fantasies, but he realised his large jolly girth in the nude was endowing all around him with fat phobias.

After the even older Elmer was tucked up in his cot, after some tasty sloppy meal, Santa tried to ignore what seemed like a riot of elves behaving badly at their meal. They were incredibly cheeky, full of mischief, having collated all those gifts for the gifting on that most magical night of the year. Santa might be able to handle some of their rebellious attitudes first thing in the morning, when he was not so jaded. He decided instead to sort any issue with the reindeers, whatever was annoying them. Since when did reindeers have any need of a petition?

Santa was intrigued, his reindeer composed an essential element in that array of picture perfect imagery at Christmas time. Santa secretly swiped the largest bag of carrots from the crisper in the fridge, plus some newly baked shortbreads. That Mrs. Santa could cook, even if she was unconciously sabotaging the once loving couple's battle to fit into their traditional seasonal clothing. Even Santa's microfibre underjocks were groaning under the weight of his sit upon. His youthful buns were now fatter than his wife's.

Munching a shortbread, very delectable, Santa walked in the dark to the reindeer stable. There he found a real-world insurrection arising, which he did not consider at all appropriate or necessary at this wonderful time of the year. His workforce of hooved reindeer had joined the powerful transport union over a campaign about safety and health issues. Plus a vested interest from an oil mining company caused them to lay claim to their access to their heritage lands at the North Pole.

"Guys and gals, this threatened boycott of traditional gifting is highly unsuitable. It is against all the basic principles of doing our thing on Christmas Eve. We must gift, magic is part of our secret. Here, I brought you Mrs. Santa's biggest and best carrots, fresh, and her greatest shortbread ever. What is the problem over the mining company? They will exploit our winter wonderland to the most, turn ice and snow into one large polluting field of oil wells, and you shall be extinct. "

The head honcho reindeer munched his carrot, sweet, then expressed their collective grievances. "Listen to us. We have to do all the heavy lifting here. The world seems so much smaller now, but the number of gifts is so much larger, and so are you! We should get danger money for working under such hazardous conditions, our union white card says. We are officially on strike, fly all those gifts yourself. Until you give us extra staff and salaries, Christmas with Santa will be a non-event!"

Santa sat down heavily, and ate a shortbread. At that moment in time, he wished there was any other male on the planet to swap with, they probably had a cuddle from their wives, and none of these demarcation hassles.

'What's that sparkling in the sky?" One of the friendlier reindeer said, looking as bewildered as Santa. In with a whoosh and a flurry of glitter landed the Christmas fairy, atop a large powerful sleigh, decorated with brand new tinsel, with a range of fairy lights, all aglow. Santa hauled himself up from his fat butt, and said, "Mrs. Santa is looking for you, and she is not sharing big happies." The Christmas fairy giggled, she had been into a nip of brandy for winter warmth. (Medicinal only).

"Mrs. Santa doesn't mean a word she says when she is whinging. Now, fur friends, gather round. You can stop looking for problems that do not exist. We are all indispensible here. I bring you a prototype of the very most modern, next gen EV sleigh. It has a seat belt for Santa, and a hydraulic jet fork lift and flight booster. Now let there be peace and goodwill for our human race, as well as fur, fin and feather, now and forever."

The reindeer and secret Santa were thrilled, it is the 21st Century after all. Santa decided his elves could keep until another blast from Mrs. Santa. His nudie rudie gals online could stay his little secret, maybe forever. He thought his flab looked good in jolly red suits anyway, as it was the most magical time of the year.