Letter to Santa

Author Christopher Moore started this over at his My Space Blog. He wrote his own hilarious entry and then invited his readers to jump in too (I did). As I'm pressed for time this week and short on fresh ideas because I'm tired and over extended, I thought I'd also post my letter here. Feel free to add your own.

Dear Santa,

I'm forty-two years old and this is the first letter I've written to you since my mom told me you weren't real. Of course, she also told me that Nessie, Bigfoot, the Mothman, and El Chupakabra existed, and that we were all brought here from another planet by an alien population. Then she sent me to Sunday school and told me to believe in that. I'm still in therapy for all of that and I'm told I'm making progress. As none of those other guys ever brought me presents on Christmas Eve, I've decided that, as an act of faith, I'm going to add you to the short list of things I do believe in these days (the other one being God--so you know you're in good company).

I think I've been okay this year. I didn't call the secretary in our office any bad names to her face, I said nice things to my mother more than once, I didn't cheat on my taxes, I walked the dogs, hugged the kids, and wrote thank you notes for presents I didn't need or want. I didn't complain to my husband for leaving the seat up, ate my vegetables, brushed my teeth and even lost five pounds. Once. Briefly. But it's the effort that counts with you right? I'm trying, Santa. I'm trying.

I have a few simple requests this Christmas. I don't think they'll take too much effort and I don't imagine I'm the only one asking for them, so I understand if what I want is on back order and I have to wait until January or so for a couple of them. I'm an adult and can wait.
Sort of.

1) Please fire our entire government. All of them, even the secretaries and the page boys and the maids and the cleaning people and the Secret Service People. We want to start over(think Biblical level cleansing--only nice 'cause nobody's dying just unemployed). Only this time I think we should pay them a lot less so they remember what it is to work an actual paycheck and have it not be enough. I have some thoughts on political parties too--mostly that that they shouldn't. At all. Ever. In any form. I think the use of the word party in any context in the White House or Senate or House of Representatives should constitute treason. They should just do their jobs without any debating or celebrating.

2) I want to be twenty-seven again. Getting older was a stupid idea and I take responsibility for that, but if you could possibly swing a deal with God, I'd really appreciate it. I promise not to waste it this time on trying to fit into a size 6 and agonizing over every flaw and failure. In return for this I promise not to ask my husband if anything I'm wearing makes me look fat or old. I'm sure as as guys, you and God probably sympathize with my husband's hunted (haunted?) look whenever the subject comes up.

3) Give my seventeen year old son a sense of mortality, please. He's still pretty convinced that he can dodge bullets and drive faster than speeding trains. In fact, all four of my sons (You might remember my youngest, he wrote you a letter last year) could use a dose of this. They don't all need it yet, but I can keep it put away for them until they do. I have just the spot in the medicine cabinet for it, behind the cold medicine and the bandaids.

3) My husband would like a subscription to Life magazine, warm socks and a trip to Hawaii (not for the usual reasons--he grew up there). Oh and he'd appreciate being twenty-seven also.

Well, that's it for this year. Let me know if I need to clarify anything or give you sizes or colors and stuff.

Sincerely a Believer,
earthshoes