Dear Santa Claus,
Every year for Christmas, I ask for world peace, or at least peace in my home. I ask for everyone to have enough to eat, or at least that my children will eat the food I put in front of them. I ask for shelter from the cold and rain, or at least that I might appreciate the cold and rain if I have to be outside in them. I ask for patience without going through the trials that produce patience. I ask for a sense of well-being, or at least a false sense of well-being. I ask to be 4 inches taller.
Every year, you fail miserably.
So, this year, I say, “Screw it. Let me win the lottery.”
If I win the lottery, I promise not to spend a dime promoting any of the good values I’ve tried to foster in my children. I promise, instead, to get a boob job, a second home somewhere coastal and foreign, and a nanny.
Oh, please, let me get a nanny.
With bigger boobs, a hide-away in the Mediterranean, and a nanny, I think the peace, food, patience, shelter and well-being will take care of themselves. And if not, I’ll have enough money left over to self-medicate in any way I choose.
Wishing you a very Merry Christmas,