My monsters were under the bed. I could hit the bed in a single bound from half-way across the room.
My sister's were in the closet. At least, they were after the night I hid in her closet . . . .
Back on topic: Mom told us Santa preferred coconut macaroons. It wasn't until many years after we stopped believing in a literal Santa that I made the connection: Mom liked coconut macaroons, too.
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Okey-dokey. What's plan B?