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Her breathing leveled out so I started throwing in more oranges. But they were now noisily hitting the nuts and the cards. She sleepily asked what I was doing. “Nothing,” I answered. “Go back to sleep.” That doesn’t work on Christmas morning, and she rolled over and turned on the lamp by her bed. For the first time I saw her nylon - almost a full box of oranges in it - stretched wide enough you could fit all the people from a third world nation within its borders. She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, but finally could contain herself no longer without choking, and she chortled gleefully, as I blushed in embarrassment. And that, I tell my children, is why Santa’s sack will hold all of those toys. It is made out of nylon. 13