At the North Pole Post Office, children’s letters stacked so high they nearly brushed the rafters. Engineers were already discussing whether they be counted as a “load-bearing structure.” Every envelope carried hope—some sprinkled with glitter, some with cookie crumbs, and at least one containing a half-eaten candy cane stuck to the stamp.

“Some families pay for rush delivery of specialty gifts,” the Postmaster said, guiding Tina through the bustling mailroom. “And some… pay later.”

Tina nodded.  “That’s credit,” she explained. “And when some payments mysteriously never arrive—usually the ones covered in jelly fingerprints—”

“We estimated bad debt expense?” the Postmaster guessed hopefully.

Tina smiled. “Exactly.”

“Even at Christmas?” he whispered.

“Especially at Christmas,” she replied. “The season runs on goodwill, but goodwill is not an acceptable basis for year-end reporting. Trust me. I checked.”

By midnight on December 24th, the North Pole Accounting Office glowed like a lantern in the snow—partly from the lights, and partly from the heat generated by 47 overworked calculators. Tina and her team had reconciled every ledger, verified every candy-cane inventory count (twice, because elves kept “sampling”), and prepared the year-end reports.

Outside, Santa’s sleigh was nearly packed—each gift tagged, scanned, and recorded in compliance with the North Pole Internal Credit Controls Handbook, 14th edition, the one with the peppermint-scented pages.

Mayor Kringle burst in just as the final report printed, steam curling off it like a mug of cocoa left too close to a fireplace.

“Tina!” he said, beaming. “Thanks to you, our finances are clearer than a frosty winter night! Also, please ignore the line item marked ‘Reindeer Treats—Miscellaneous.’ Rudolph got ahold of the corporate card again.”

Santa chuckled warmly.
 “Ho ho ho! Balanced books—my favorite gift! Well, that and cookies. Mostly cookies.”

Tina tucked her pencil behind her ear with the confidence of someone who had successfully survived both audit season and elf budget meetings.

“Accounting keeps Christmas running,” she said. “Behind every jingle bell is a journal entry—and usually three supporting documents.”

And with that, Santa took flight—the sleigh gliding smoothly thanks to properly depreciated assets, up-to-date warranty records, and elves who, after only four gentle reminders, finally submitted their materials-usage logs in the correct template.

Christmas Town slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of how close they’d come to a budget variance. The spirit of the season shone bright—supported, as always, by strong accounting principles, well-timed adjusting entries, and a ledger that never lies (but occasionally sighs).