Santa, Could I Have a Minute?

Dear Santa,

I know you’re a busy man. You’ve got millions of names to check off lists, billions of toys to wrap and a whole lot of reindeer to feed. But I was hoping you could take just a minute or two to read this letter.

It’s not for me. I don’t really need anything. Well, a baby translator would be nice (what do those screams mean???). As would a faster metabolism. And, since you asked, I really would like a kindle.

But that’s not why I’m writing.

I’m writing on behalf of some people I know who could really use some holiday cheer this year.

Like my grandma. I know she’s a nasty woman, Santa. I mean, yeah, she’s made my mom cry on every Mother’s Day since I can remember. Heck, even her compliments kinda feel like a slap across the face. But she’s all alone. She’s been alone since my grandfather died…almost 35 years ago.

You can see how that might make a person bitter, can’t you? She says that he was the only man for her. That she wouldn’t ever want another one of those hairy beasts cluttering up her life. But you know what? A little flirtation might do her good.

So, instead of presents, could you maybe bring her some flowers? Maybe take her for a twirl around the Christmas tree? Maybe even give her a little peck on the cheek? I’d give anything to see a real smile on her face (plus, it would make Christmas a whole lot more merry for the rest of us).

Also, all the working stiffs I know up in Detroit. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but about the only thing that could make the situation up there any worse is if a bomb went off (yes, I know portions of the city looks like several hundred already have. But that’s just neglect).

Anyway, could you sprinkle some magic reindeer poop around and fix the auto industry? Or maybe just wrap up several hundred thousand bundles of cash and stuff them in everyone’s stockings? If nothing else, could you at least make the winter slightly less nasty? They’re already depressed. They don’t need five months of sloshing through urine-stained slush under leaden skies to make it worse.

Lastly, my dog. Despite the fact that he gets organic dog food topped with specially cooked chicken breasts, sleeps on cushy couches and even has his own queen-sized bed (well, it’s the guest bed. but really, it’s his), that dog is depressed.

He’s been depressed his whole life. Sure, sometimes we get a tail wag, or a half-hearted smile, but I swear that dog needs some Prozac. So…could you bring him some? Or maybe a light box (we’ve often wondered if our dog has SADD). It’d be nice to see him really happy for once.

Also, my husband would like a new car. And a Blu Ray player. And whatever gee whiz super cool gadget is about to take the world by storm.

But like I said, I don’t really need anything. Except maybe eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. Make that twelve. Or at least, maybe a two hour nap, curled up on the couch on a sunny Sunday afternoon?

Do you think you could handle that? You’d have my ever-lasting gratitude.


P.S. I’ll make you those peanut butter cookies with the chocolate kisses in the middle. I know they’re your favorite.

This was written as part of Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop. The prompt I chose (obviously) was to write a letter to Santa. I’m sure there’s tons of brilliant entries for you to read over at Mama Kat’s, so head over there and check them out!

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