There's nothing quite like the D.C. Metro, especially when its riders are dressed unusually. Tonight, Marissa and I were on our way home from a Christmas party, and--as luck would have it-- so were three Santas, two of whom followed us onto the train.
Given that my last Santa encounter involved bumming some Jack Daniels off Bad Santa at a Halloween party, I was pretty confident that Santas leaving Adams Morgan at 11:45 on a Saturday night would prove entertaining.
They nodded at us solemnly. "Merry Christmas."
"So, I have to ask," said Marissa. "Do you rent the Santa suit, or is this something you own?"
"Oh, you definitely need to own," said the more Santa-shaped of the two.
"Yeah," I said. "It seems like a good investment."
"Well, maybe, " said cute Santa, as he pulled a chunk of white faux fur from the trim on the jacket. "I don't really know how much is going to be left next year."
"Hmm, you appear to be molting." I know, I'm astute.
"Well," he replied, "the word 'molting' suggests that it might grow back."
At this point, it was time for Marissa and me to disembark--which was good, since the other Santa was starting to explain that a lot of the, um, fur loss was from the crotch region of his costume--but we nevertheless found it hilarious that we had encountered a.) multiple Santas and b.) a Santa who would challenge me on my diction. Merry Christmas indeed.