🖋️ Jingle’s Editorial Jots: Unlucky? Unlikely. – Friday the 13th at the North Pole

Dear Tinsel Post Readers,

I’m writing to you today with twelve candy canes in my coat pocket, one cinnamon bun under my hat, and absolutely zero fear in my heart. Why? Because it’s Friday the 13th, and here at the North Pole… we don’t do superstition. We do sequins, snowball dodgeball, and suspiciously well-timed gingerbread accidents, but not bad luck.

Oh sure, the mortal world may quake in their socks at broken mirrors and black cats—but up here, we celebrate a little chaos! After all, snowflakes never fall in a straight line, and neither does a sled on glitter ice.

🧹 What Really Happens on Friday the 13th?

Well, last year we accidentally enchanted all the quills in the newsroom. Every reporter’s notes were written in rhyming couplets for a full 24 hours. (Holly Spriggletoes called it “poetic journalism”; Sprinkle Gingersnapp called it “a hex and a half.”)

Two years ago, the sleighs parked themselves on the roof. ALL of them. Unprompted.

And three years ago, someone (who shall remain peppermint-nameless) mislabeled the fudge vats, resulting in exploding butterscotch and one very sticky editorial meeting. Buttons McSprightly still has caramel in his clipboard.

🍀 Luck Is What You Make It

The truth is, we elves believe the 13th is just as magical as the 25th—if not more so. It’s a day where things go a little sideways, sure… but isn’t that where the best stories start? I say embrace it. Trip over your shoelaces and discover a gumdrop you forgot you dropped. Slip on peppermint ice and land in a hug pile. Laugh. Dance. Duck flying pudding.

✨ Our Official Friday the 13th North Pole Survival Guide:

• Wear mismatched mittens. Upsets the Gremlins of Routine.
• Never say “oops” without a smile.
• Accept that the printer will only spit out glitter. Again.
• If your cocoa starts singing? Just harmonize.
• Don’t open Sprinkle Gingersnapp’s drawer. Ever. I’m serious.

So to those who say Friday the 13th is cursed, I say: only if you’re allergic to joy.

See you in the snowstorm of weirdness,
Jingle P. Peppermint
Editor-in-Chief

P.S. If you hear tiny chanting from the workshop rafters, don’t panic—it’s just the Nutcracker Bots rehearsing Macbeth. Probably.