(Writing a letter, speaking the words as she writes.)
To my dear husband. No. Dear Chris. No, no. Dear Nick. Dear St. Nick. No. Dear Mr. Claus. I am so sorry it has come to this. We've been married for over a dozen centuries and yet somehow we've grown apart. Maybe it's the fact that you spend more time with your reindeer than you do with me. Or that you don't feel complete unless you are down in your workshop, slave-driving those poor elves.
(Continues speaking, but no longer writing. Feel free to move about.)
The rest of the world sees you as unceasingly jolly, a constant beacon of merriment. But they don't know the real Claus. Quiet. Sullen. A workaholic who drinks too much eggnog! And what about that bowl full of jelly you call a stomach? Maybe you should spend less time making a list and checking it twice and more time on the treadmill! I'm sorry. I don't mean to lash out. None of these things really matter. They aren't why I'm leaving you. The truth is, I've met someone new. It doesn't matter who it is. All that matters is how I feel when we spend time together, hiding Easter eggs and decorating chocolate rabbits. All that matters is that we're happy. And I truly hope that you can find happiness too. Maybe with the tooth fairy? She's always had a thing for you.
(Returns to writing.)
You have my blessing. Good bye, my husband. I'm leaving this note next to a glass of milk and some cookies for old time's sake. Farewell.
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