But What about my Sock?

This is the carrot house. How amazing would it be to live in a house designed around carrots? Unless there are really big rabbits on the loose and that would just be plain scary. The carrots on the mantlepiece are just normal-sized for the reindeer. The port on the mantlepiece was meant to be for Father Christmas but since I told the Parents, 'the truth about Christmas' Dad has decided that he should finish it off himself.

Everything is really quiet up until bedtime. I stay in my bedroom after tea and look at the snow on the screensaver. It looks less like snow and more like small grey sheep falling from the sky - I suppose it's better than no snow at all.
'Bedtime, Wilfred!' Mum calls from downstairs.
I run down to the sitting room. The Parents are slumped in chairs in front of the fire. They are burning the last of Mum's Christmas present.
'That's a good fire!' I say, trying to cheer them up because I do feel bad about the chairs.
But then I feel worse about telling them the truth about Father Christmas. They had to find out sometime but they have taken it very badly. Still, I stand there waiting for the usual Christmas Eve speeches.
'Goodnight, Wilfred dear,' says Mum and she sighs.
'Goodnight,' says Dad.
'What about my sock?' I ask, 'or a carrot for the reindeer?'
'What's the use?' asks Dad, clutching a large glass of something red.
'But what about a mince pie and some port for Father Christmas?'
'I've drunk it,' says Dad.
'You said he wasn't real, Wilfred,' says Mum. 'So what's the point?'
'I know,' I say and I feel sad because I like to put out the carrots and the mince pies, even if there is no point. 'I'll just go to bed then, shall I?'
This very bad, usually by now they would be busy cooking and singing and smiling.
'Just as you like,' says Dad and he takes a giant swig from his glass.
Oh dear.