Christmas Brake

Hey Santa, I thought you and I  had something special. 

A spark. A wink shared at your parade last year in town spoke volumes. 

You felt it. I felt it. You knew I knew it. I knew you knew I knew it. 


Yet, when our eyes met at your parade this year, you were a little coy. Less jolly. I think I know why.

Despite a year of being exceptionally good, to the point of being downright boring, you forgot my holiday wish last year. My one wish.  

I woke up on the big day to find my little car buried under a few feet of snow from the freakish Christmas Eve storm. 

But the Toyota 4Runner I very clearly asked you for was nowhere to be found. And believe me, Santa, I looked. Twice.

The Carpenter explained that most cars were still on post-pandemic back order, so maybe mine just wasn’t ready. 

That’s right Santa, my husband covered for you. 

Then he mumbled something about it being time I give up the 4Runner dream with my financial reality. I can’t remember what all he said, because I stopped listening. 

Besides, the Carpenter doesn’t know about that wink, Santa. Best we keep it that way. 

So here we are on the cusp of another Christmas, and despite enduring an epic year of goodness, devoid of excess and poor choices that I would have happily regretted later, I find myself wondering if this will be the year my holiday wish comes true. 

Even nice girls have their limits, Santa. 

At this point, I know what I’m buying myself for Christmas: new brakes. Front brakes and back brakes. Sexy, right? Stop. I’m serious.

And if you think that’s putting a halt to my holiday gift-giving spending, you’d be correct. 

This isn’t a crisis. It’s just that old kick in the pants called timing. I’m well aware of my good fortune, especially at this time of year. I am grateful that I have enough of what I need. 

I have a home. I own a car. I have a job to pay my mechanic. I also am fortunate that my credit is good. (I get credit for that, right?)

Every year I say that Christmas isn’t about the money we spend or the number of gifts under the tree. Yet, every year I worry about the money we’ve spent and whether the ratio of gifts under the tree balances out per family member.

 This year, at least my tires will be balanced. 

I’m sure my family will thoroughly enjoy car rides up and down the driveway this year, in lieu of socks and pyjamas. Who wouldn’t?

Oh, wait Santa, you naughty old elf, I see what you’re doing here. You almost had me. I almost fell for it. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?  You’re just testing me. Gosh, that’s cute. Stop it though. Stop it right now. 

On Christmas morning, I hope to find that Toyota 4Runner parked in front of the barn. 

No ribbons. No bows. Just shiny and new. Black, (like my mood if it doesn’t appear). Chrome rims around chunky tires. A full tank of gas and heated seats, ready for open road adventures.

Thanks, big guy. 


WriteOut of Her Mind