It’s a little late, but here I am at the midnight hour, with my Christmas wish list in hand.

I am confident that Santa Claus will excuse my tardiness. I’ve been an exceptionally good girl this year. Don’t roll your eyes, it’s a fact. I have been absolutely angelic. I’ve been so good even my naughty was nice. So I don’t think my Christmas wish list is unreasonable. It’s based on nostalgia of Christmases past.

My tradition each year is to keep asking Santa for impossible things, the very wishes he’s ignored in previous years. Hey, I’m no quitter. Persistence is key. My theory is simple: if you don’t ask, and keep asking, you won’t get what you want (this was also my philosophy in dating; success rate was about the same). You should never give up on your wishes. I’ve itemized my top three Christmas wishes in order of importance to make it easier to process quickly.

First, I’d like a pony. I’ve only been asking since I was four years old, so maybe this is the year that my request gets taken seriously. I know plenty of kids who have ponies. Someone is clearly getting their wish. Why can’t I? Sure, I have no intention of riding the pony, nor do I have a place to keep one. That’s not the point. This is a lifelong wish fulfilment issue. You understand. Besides, a real, live pony would not amuse my husband, the Carpenter, and that thought alone amuses me.

Second, I’d like a 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback (or any Mustang from 1965 to ‘68). It needs to be road-ready. I’m not fussy on colours, but no red please, Santa. I’d flip out for a nice sparkly burnt orange paint job. Nice rims too. I want that car to shine like a thousand diamonds in the sunshine when I take it out on the open road.

Finally, I would like a cottage on the shores of a quiet lake in Muskoka. What? It could happen. Santa wants me to take more breaks. He worries about my health and thinks I need more time off. I’m just suggesting an ideal setting.

You know I’m kidding. My Christmas wishes are far simpler than that: quality time with people I love, laughter until it hurts, and quiet time to relax and reflect. And a Mustang. Please, Santa.

I hope your Christmas wishes come true. The Carpenter and I wish you a very Merry Christmas.

WriteOut of Her Mind