The Christmas Contract

Every December, the world expected the same from Larry — a jolly smile, a velvet suit, and the dependable comfort of a man who had played Santa for twenty-seven straight seasons. But nothing in the North Pole, nor in the fine print he forgot to read, could have prepared him for that year’s… upgrade.

Larry’s holiday gigs had always been his survival plan. A few extra dollars in shopping malls, photo calendars, end-of-year events — enough to keep the lights on and the mortgage from knocking at the door like a cold wind. But the bills had grown teeth that season, biting without mercy.

So when an old friend suggested a “more modern, attention-grabbing” photoshoot — one that paid absurdly well — Larry didn’t hesitate. He didn’t question the idea, didn’t read the contract, didn’t even blink. Just signed. Desespero tem velocidade.

Only when he arrived at the studio did he realize something was… off. Instead of the expected red suit, they handed him a piece of “clothing” so microscopic it could have fit in the palm of a Christmas elf. Green lace, white trim, ribbons. And antlers. The kind with glitter.

He laughed. Impossible — a man built like a classic Santa wouldn’t fit in that even by Christmas miracle.

But as he walked toward the dressing room, the air thickened. A soft hum — almost like sleigh bells underwater — wrapped around him. His body responded before his mind did: the weight shifted, the center of gravity rewired itself, curves flourished as if sculpted by invisible hands. His once-solid belly cinched into a waist, broader hips balanced the transformation like an exclamation point in motion, and his aging gray hair cascaded into long, golden waves, bouncing with life.

His reflection became someone who could wear that outfit — someone who could own it.

Minutes later, with the gentle choreography of brushes, powders, and shimmering highlights, the makeup team completed what the contract had begun. Larry blinked at the mirror, both brand-new and strangely familiar, as if this form had been waiting backstage for years.

The photographer whistled. “Perfect. You’re going to make a fortune.”

And Larry — now luminous, confident, and absolutely camera-ready — felt something warm bloom inside.

Money, yes. But also possibility. Attention. Opportunities he never expected, some clearly more… personal.

After all, the world wasn’t prepared for this holiday rebrand —

and neither was he.