Dear Santa,
In anticipation of Christmas, I tried very hard to be good this year. I would like to apologize for driving too fast, drinking too much, throwing a fit about losing the sprint, my obnoxious cackle that resonates throughout even the most crowded of establishments, my attempt to pay Abu Sodabi to get my name off the naughty list, as well as variety of things I'd like not to mention here. You know what I'm talking about. I'm sorry, as you know, it is very hard being me.
In lieu of adding to my coal collection of years past, I would like you to seriously consider the following:
- The ability to stop choking on things. No, not THOSE things, I'm good. But really Santa, when songs are made up by friends and family about my choking, I think it is high time I learned to chew. I am also tired of slugging vinegar every time a chip gets lodged in my throat.
- An electronic dog collar for myself. I need you to zap me every time I wander into that one cashier's lane at Dominick's. You know the one: skin flaking all over my food, perpetual booger threatening to land on my coupons, monotone voice asking me, "So, how are you doing today?" 15 times. I stumble upon her every time. I want you to shock me as I cross the aisle threshold.
- Endless supply of black winter gloves put in random places. Santa, I suffer from the one glove disease. It doesn't matter what kind, I'll lose them anyway.
- More antibacterial gel. See number 2.
- Adult onesies. To prevent habitual ass crack/thong show.
Thanks for the consideration, Santa. I would also like to take the opportunity to apologize for last year's Breakfast with Santa incident. I never should have worn that skirt and boots to sit on your lap.
Love,
Jana
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