A Very Muppet Christmas

I mentioned before that I write a family newspaper every Christmas. Here's the main article from today's issue.

Your intrepid reporter was at a Christmas choir practice when her sisters said to her, “Want to go to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir concert?”

“The Mormon Tabernacle Choir concert? You mean the Mormon Tabernacle Choir concert? The Christmas one? The one we couldn’t get tickets to? The one with Santino Fontana, Broadway star and voice of Prince Hans from Frozen?”

“SANtino FonTANa,” said Older Sister Obnoxious, one of your fearless reporter’s sisters, said bossily. “Not SAHNtino FonTAHNa. He’s American, not Spanish.”

“Santino Fontana,” the reporter continued fearlessly, “and the Muppets?” Your reporter breathed that last phrase like it was as precious as the last pure oxygen in a smoker’s lounge.

“Yes,” said the sisters, “the Sesame Street Muppets. We’re going a few hours early to be in standby for tickets.”

“Count me in,” said the reporter.

“Dress warm,” said her sisters.

“Okay,” said the reporter. She went home and put on 3,000 layers of warmth. She filled her pockets with tissues (because she was getting over an illness), an umbrella, and the recording of Steve Whitmire’s heartbeat she listens to when she falls asleep at night.

“I’m so excited to be in the same room with Muppeteers,” the reporter swooned. “Especially Steve Whitmire!!!”

“I know. I’m just so intimidated at the thought,” Little Sister Obnoxious, another of the reporter’s multiple sisters, exclaimed.

Then one Bonnaby, aka the crusher of all hopes and dreams, sent your reporter a screenshot of the program from the concert. Everyone from Sesame Street would be at the concert, except…

“William Barkhurst?” your intrepid reporter said blankly. “I have never heard of this man in my life. Who is he, and what did he do with Steve Whitmire???”

There was a moment of shamed silence for the lack of getting to be near Steve Whitmire.

“Oh well,” sighed the reporter. “The other Muppeteers will still be there. And I still think it will be really cool to hear Santino Fontana sing.”

“You’re still saying it wrong!” shouted Older Sister Obnoxious, harbinger of correct nomenclature pronunciation.

Siblings four and Carrot Top, a friend of Little Sister, trooped off together to the standby line for the concert. Would they get in to the concert? they wondered as they shivered in the rain. Would they be able to be personal witnesses to the glory of Sesame Street and Santino Fontana’s voice? Or would they be forced to instead watch the broadcast of the concert on the cramped benches of a tabernacle built in the much-smaller proportions of humans from a hundred years ago?

They wondered and they wondered. It was more suspenseful than The Woman in Black.

Slowly, people from the standby line were allowed into the concert. Your reporter and her companions were about the fifth hundred people in the standby line. First three hundred were let in…then another one hundred and seventy-five…and then there was a terrible pause. Would another twenty-five people be let into the concert? Would they get to go in? Would there be snow for Christmas? Would The Legend of Korra ever reveal Suyin’s father? And would he be someone cool, like Sokka, or some lame-o? These were some questions they wondered.

The man handing out the tickets paced up and down the aisles a few times. He talked to some people and listened to his headset. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.

Just kidding. He pulled out a fat pack of tickets.

“There are seats for you in the balcony,” he told your committed reporter as he pressed tickets into her hand and the hands of her siblings. “But you’ll have to hurry before they close the doors.”

Quick as an Energizer bunny on caffeine, they dashed across Temple Square and to the conference center. They slid into their seats just as the opening number finished and the guest stars arrived onstage.

Muppets!

And Santino Fontana.

But also Muppets.

“Gee Bert,” said Ernie, “isn’t it great to be here with Fantino Sontana?”

“It’s SANTINO FONTANA,” said Bert, Older Sister’s best friend.

“Right. Bandino Bondana.”

There had never been more love in your gallant reporter’s heart for Muppets and Muppeteers than there was at that moment.