Every year, friends and family ask me what I want for Christmas, and I never really have a good answer. More often than not (especially now, in my current state of holiday grinchy-ness) I convince people not to buy me anything, mainly to avoid the sheer uncomfortable nature of the whole gift-giving tradition. But every year, millions of kids around the world write well-thought-out (albeit highly grammatically incorrect) letters to Santa, describing their biggest dreams and ultimate desires, trying to convince him that they’ve been extra special good and deserving and could he please make sure to bring everything they ask for. So I’ve decided it’s time to write the fat man himself and get him to straighten out a thing or two in my world.
I know you are real, even though as a small child (and by small child I mean probably 11 or 12 years old) my parents- effectively ruining my life and crushing my hopes and dreams- told me that you did not exist. Even though there was a boot print in the fireplace that one year. And the cookies were always gone. Although, the milk was still there, I don’t know what that’s about. Anyway, here’s my Christmas list. I think I deserve everything on it because I’ve been pretty good this year. In no particular order, here’s what I want for Christmas:
A British accent. But not a fake one. I have an impeccable British accent, but it’s fake. I want to be British and have a real British accent. Then I can move back to London and not feel creepy talking to people with my British accent.
The ability to talk to animals. Like Eliza Thornberry. But better looking.
A new government. Because ours sucks. The end.
To find Atlantis.
The end of homelessness.
My dead dog Ninja. Because she was my best friend. And she’s better than your dog.
A haunted castle. Because I’m creepy and I want to meet a ghost. Plus who wouldn’t want a castle?
To meet aliens.
To dive the Titanic.
Self-driving cars. Because sometimes I’m just too lazy to drive.
My own country.
The end of animal cruelty. Because I like animals better than people.
Tim Burton’s brain. Because he’s an artistic genius.
your biggest fan/admirer/advocate/supporter/enthusiast/believer/any other noun that will sway you to concession,
P.S. If you don’t bring me everything I ask for, I will have no other choice but to poison you with sour milk and raw cookies next year.