Hey Big Guy, I hope this letter finds you jolly and that your reindeer are healthy and ready for the epic Christmas Eve world tour, where I know children anticipate your mysterious arrival and the subsequent leaving of presents.
About that, Santa: I need your help. I have come to terms with the reality that you are not bringing me the Toyota 4Runner I have asked you for every year since I could drive. I’m trying not to take it personally (I’m absolutely taking it personally.) I assume you’re looking out for my financial wellbeing, with the cost of gas and insurance. Fine. Your logic is acceptable. But what I’m about to tell you is not.
I’m formally requesting that you transfer my beloved spouse, the Carpenter, from the nice list to the naughty list. And not for the fun reasons that this word implies. No sir, I mean naughty as in the Carpenter is refusing to get me the one thing I really want for Christmas: a scarlet red San Francisco 49ers George Kittle home jersey.
I did ask politely, Santa. I even said it was the only gift I wanted. I explained that as a dedicated “49er Faithful,” this ticked the boxes of my two essential gift criteria: it was a need and a want. I would wear it. Good times and bad. Every week. Totally worth it.
With each request for my Kittle jersey, I get a different response, all with the same outcome and varying degrees of colourful language wrapped around the phrases: “never going to happen,” “not in your lifetime,” “when hell freezes over” and my all-time favourite: “you can’t make me.”
The audacity of this man is staggering. Santa, you know that I have spent hundreds of dollars on Seattle Seahawks gear for every major holiday. I have sponsored an entire wardrobe of navy blue and obnoxious green attire, everything from socks and hats to pyjama bottoms, mugs and memorabilia. He has two jerseys: home and away. I even bought him a “12th Man” flag. It currently hangs in the bedroom. Seriously.
To be fair, most of this was done before I pledged allegiance to his rival team; a day that broke his spirit, but stoked the flames of competition that has ignited some fresh passion in our marriage. Until this season, that is. My team has suffered the heartbreak of early season injuries to key players on my team. Brutal. His team? Declared as the “team to beat” this season. Ugly clothes and a winning streak. Spare me.
I know what you’re thinking, Santa. The Carpenter is a good, kind, honest man. Best of the best. A wonderful husband. A good father. Best friend. He’s been a loyal Seahawks fan for decades, and that hasn’t always been easy. I know, I’ve endured many of those years too. I should get a medal for that. I should at the very least get a George Kittle jersey, no?
Which is why I’m making the case that the Carpenter should be on the naughty list.
Not forever, Santa, just for this one Christmas. Teach him a lesson. Make an example of him. Show spouses everywhere that gifts are about the desires of the receiver, not the giver (metaphor? You decide). I look forward to your response, Santa.
Faithfully, Kelly.
