Merry Christmas everyone from all of us Whos in Whoville! It’s been a very busy season but I’m glad to take a few minutes for a break to sit down and catch everyone up. The reason it’s been so busy is because, well, you may remember last year when we had that crazy night with Mr. Grinch. That was the night Cindy-Lou found him stealing everything from our homes. Bless her heart, she thought he was Santa Claus. We were all a bit shocked when we got up and found our homes completely emptied, but it was Christmas and all refused to let that get us down. The season isn’t so much about the gifts that we give as the love that we live, and also the day off from work, so all of us from mayor to clerk gathered in the town square and sang against the sturm and drang.
The funny thing is that had a strange effect on Mr. Grinch. The poor old man had lived in a cave up on Mount Crumpit for fifty-three years and hadn’t gotten out much except on Halloweens when the Gree-Grumps start growlin’ and the Hakken-Krakks start howlin’ and the sour-sweet wind could blow away any small child who goes out to the euphemism, when he’d fall into brickle bushes hunting the last Wuzzy Woozoo or come to play a spook on a Who or two. When we started singing he had a complete change and brought everything back. It was so nice we invited him to stay and celebrate Christmas, and his little dog Max too, and we even let him carve the roast beast. He did a much better job than my brother Hugh, too, who tries to cut slices but is allergic to spices that make him a-choo.
We thought that would be the end of our troubles with Mr. Grinch, and it was, but Sue had to invite him to stay, so he parked his paraphernalia wagon next to Ponker’s Pond and took up in the guest room. I got to be the one who spent an hour cleaning Grinch hair out of the bathtub each morning.
After New Year’s when he insisted on toasting everyone until he passed out and then woke all of us up at the crack of dawn with a mighty shout we sent him off with a bleary-eyed wave and wished him well as he went back to his cave.
Then he came back, the next Christmas Eve, and you’ll never believe what he had up his sleeve. He brought presents for all of us, presents galore. He’d gone out and bought out every Who store, and then went online and bought even more. For every Who home he brought a new Christmas tree, and under each one he put a big screen TV, and have you heard of a Super-Zooper-Flooper-Do? He brought three. And a sectional couch big enough to hold all of us Whos, with a pouch that can chill up to six dozen brews.
He even got a new scarf for the Doctor.
We all felt so guilty, the shame it did sting, we hadn’t thought to get him anything. “That’s quite all right my Whos!” he said over as we apologized profusely, “I just want your happiness and to hear you all sing,” and then he pulled a roast Christmas goosely.
He played Santa too, and hired a band, two guys named Pete and Roger, from a town called Eng-land.
As I send this letter out to all on my holiday roster I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the lesson he taught us, or even for the wonderful gifts that he brought us, but I wish we had known while the sun shone, while filled with Christmas we gathered and sang and all the bells rang, that our happiness was making a monster.