Me again

Dear Santa, It’s me again. I’m sure you remember me. I mean, really, how could you forget? (Wink.)

Remember that time at the mall, before you called security on me? Yeah, you do. What can I say? I like a man in a uniform and you wear red so well.  Ah, good times.

Well, at this stage of my life being on the naughty list means something quite different. It’s not the same excitement it once was. I’m less wild, more mischievous. I now prefer little bits of naughtiness, like not putting the milk bag in the milk container after I drain it.

Or not making a fresh pot of coffee after I drank the last cup of the previous one, and hearing my husband, the Carpenter, arrive to find no coffee, murmuring about the injustice of it all. Giggle.

(Santa, FYI: the Carpenter ate your cookies last year. He drank your beer, too. That guy has no boundaries or self-control. Coal in his stocking would send the right message. I’ll take his candy and lottery tickets.)

Of course, Santa, you are fully aware of my angelic nature and all the kind things I do, like, well, you know, all the nice stuff I do. Too much to list, really. For instance, I recently shared my ripple chips (a small bowl) and two large spoonfuls of dip with the Carpenter (yes, I measured, because sharing is caring, but everyone has limits).

I’m mean, so what if I refused to let him dip his chips in the actual dip container. Santa, I know you understand boundaries are important in relationships. It was my dip, after all. Look, the point is, I shared a reasonable portion. Then we watched a movie together and I didn’t even talk during it, even when I found obvious errors in the plot. The movie was dumb. The Carpenter loved it. Not one disparaging word out of me. He doesn’t deserve me, really.

I don’t want to waste your time, Santa, and I realize I’m pushing your holiday wish list deadline, so to make it easier, I’m dividing my wishes into categories: wants versus needs. This will help you prioritize and balance my bounty of gifts.

Needs are less sexy, so let’s start there. I need time to myself to read books without interruption. Think: a cabin in the woods overlooking a lake. That’s it. That’s all I need. Peace and quiet with an exceptional view for 48 hours or 48 days. Your choice. I’m good either way. Fridge stocked. Fireplace on. Silence. I even have the books already, a stack in fact, so look at me saving you money already. This is doable. Also socks. I could use some socks.

As to my wants, well, how much time have you got, Santa? (Snort.) I’m kidding. No, but seriously, there is one thing I want that would make this season bright: I’d like quality time spent with my small but mighty clan of lovelies, just talking and laughing and being silly together. Best gift ever. I’ll take that over anything.

Maybe don’t tell them about the whole alone-time-in-a-cabin-with-books fantasy thing. I’ll break it to them later.

Thanks, Santa. I’ll guard the cookies and beer. You bring the coal. And the socks. Meet you at the fireplace at midnight. Wink. Kidding. Wink. Seriously, you’re safe. Wink.

Merry Christmas.

WriteOut of Her Mind