Mrs. Peabody threw back her head, her CASCADING LOCKS (for you, Pistols) shaking with mirth, and let out a hearty belly-laugh. That's right. A bowl-full-of-jelly belly laugh.
"P-Day!" she cried, with glee,"of course, refers to Christmas!" (more bowl-full-of-jelly belly laughing) "Presents Day anyone? It's so simple!"
And then she stopped, mid-belly laugh, as the man's eyes started to twinkle. His white moustache began to grow into a full beard, and his cheeks popped into cherry-like buds, and his belly expanded and began to shake.
Mrs. Peabody's eyes grew to saucer-size, and her jaw dropped to the floor, as Santa Claus stood before her, laughing and ho-ho-ho-ing.
He then asked if, next year, could she please bake the regular Christmas cookies, and not try to make them "low-fat" by substituting applesauce for the butter. APPLESAUCE for God's sake! They were so hard to eat with his bandaged hand - that spiteful Dasher had gotten a bit snippy at the last house, and boy is he going to be on shovel-duty for the next 100 houses.
Santa, then removed the cigarette from the orangutan's mouth. That orangutan was a gift for Mrs. Peabody's youngest daughter, and the cigarette was a dangerous fire hazard.
And then he reached into his sack, which had been carefully hidden by the black kitty cat, and pulled out a brand new pair of Christian Louboutin shooties for Mrs. Peabody.
She had been a very good girl that year.