Feeling numb, I called my dad and told him what had happened.

He roared with laughter. "That’s something I should be doing!"

"Would you?" I asked hopefully.

"I don't have the time, sweetheart. But I'll take you to Bellair's, if that’s what you want."

And that is how I, Jessica Ramsey, became a department store Santa Claus.

I arrived at Bellair's by 6:21. Mrs. McGill met me and took me to a locker room area. There I met a woman named Ms. Javorsky, who was in charge of fitting me.

She did not pass out when she saw me. She didn't even laugh. In fact, she seemed thrilled.

"You are a life saver, my dear," she said to me. "You have no idea how happy we are."

"You don't mind that I'm not . . ."

"A roly-poly old man with a beard and a jolly laugh?" Ms. Javorsky laughed. "Do you know how hard it is to get someone like that to volunteer on a weekend during the holidays? Last year's Santa was a high school boy with an earring and hair past his shoulders. He kept saying, 'Yo, what's up?' to the kids, instead of 'Ho, ho, ho.' "

"And you didn't mind?"

"Not at all. He was so charming, and the children adored him," Ms. Javorsky gave me a reassuring smile. "If the little ones see through the disguise, they just make up their own explanations — you're Santa's helper or something. And the big ones already know the truth anyway, so it doesn't matter who you are."

"I guess ..."

"Don't you worry. Now, up up up!"

She gestured to a small stool. I climbed it and she quickly took my measurements with a tape.

When she finished, she shook her head and chuckled. "Well, I'll be doing a lot of hemming. And you'll need plenty of padding. Okay, let's work a little on the delivery."

She pulled a fake beard and a hat off the shelf. I put them on and tried to jut out my belly.

I felt like a fool.