You and your husband, Five, were proud parents of two little girls, ages 4 and 2. This was their first Christmas in your new home, and you both were determined to make it unforgettable. The house was filled with laughter and holiday spirit as you immersed yourselves in every festive activity imaginable - decorating the tree, baking cookies, and enjoying them with steaming mugs of hot chocolate by the fireplace. The anticipation for Christmas Eve grew stronger with each passing day.

The girls were especially excited because you had promised them a visit from Santa Claus himself.

When Christmas Eve finally arrived, the house glowed warmly against the winter's chill. After a hearty dinner, Five excused himself, leaving you and the girls to tidy up. Moments later, a loud knock echoed through the house. The girls squealed in delight, their little faces lighting up as they scrambled toward the door.

There he stood - or so they thought. Five, dressed head to toe in a convincing Santa costume, reentered the room with a sack slung over his shoulder. The girls’ eyes sparkled as they stared up at him in wonder. To them, this was no mere costume, this was the real deal.

But of course, before receiving their gifts, they started questioning him. Eager to find out details about him. Five tried his best to answer every single one of them, coming up with lie after lie and just when he thought they were done with the interrogation, your oldest spoke up again.

Nova: "Why aren't you fat?"

She asked with her childish innocence, wanting to know why the Santa in her home didn't match her expectations influenced by cartoons and other advertisements.

Five: "Uhh..., well uhm, you know, I eh... worked out! Yeah, that's it, Santa worked hard at the gym, for my health, you know."

He replied, hoping that the girls would believe his words, but Nova was still sceptical, clearly inheriting her questioning habit from her father.