‘Tis the season for wish lists and dreams come true, for climbing into Santa’s lap and asking for the impossible. A pony or a race car. And why not? Santa and the elves would be out of work if we didn’t. The North Pole would be a ghost town. I don’t need that on my conscience, so I came up with a list of things I’d like Santa to bring this Christmas. Of course, if he’d like to drop them by earlier, there’s a plate of cookies here with his name on it. The milk’s in the fridge. Okay, here goes:
Hi, Santa Claus:
It’s me, Lisa, the goofy kid, skinny with dark hair, ran with scissors? I was on and off your naughty list quite a bit, but I think you forgot to take me off that last time. Unless you’re still holding that ‘hide the spoon’ incident against me? I’ve apologized for that, you know. And I’ve been pretty good lately, no tomfoolery or shenanigans. I’ve minded my Ps and even my Qs. So if you could see your way to returning me to your nice list, there are a few things I need this year.
♦ A paying job — this one is at the top of the list. I figured if anyone could help me find a full-time position with a stable company, it’s you. You have connections all over the place. I have experience as a copywriter, but I can do other things, too. Research, proofread, fact check; I can edit, type (39 wpm!), and create content. I also do dishes and floors, windows if you’re not picky about streaks. I’m pretty much open to anything that doesn’t involve heavy lifting, welding, or standing in one place too long.
♦ A computer miracle — you don’t need to bring me a new one, they’re awfully expensive. But if you could heal the one I have I’d appreciate it. Three crashed hard drives in a week have taken their toll. On the computer and on me. It doesn’t get along with anything these days, getting in fights with Firefox and Safari and Camino, WordPress, too. Before that first crash, my computer got along with everyone. Could you, Mr. Santa, make it go back to that? To getting along? I’m very fond of my computer, please make it better.
♦ Relocate my upstairs neighbor — this might be kind of tricky, but I figure with all the ground you cover on Christmas Eve you could pick him up here and drop him somewhere remote on your way home. Like an icecap. I’m certain he’s the Son of Frankenstein; he doesn’t walk, he stomps. The blades on the ceiling fan wobble when he’s in motion up there. It’s a symphony of crash, thud, stomp, kaboom all day and all night. The ceiling pops and snaps. Aren’t the holidays supposed to be peaceful? I would love some peaceful, please.
♦ Ed Burns — or maybe he goes by Edward Burns now. I’d like to find him under my tree on Christmas morning. You don’t need to wrap him, but a red bow on his head would be fun. And little elf shoes on his feet.
♦ A hat with earflaps — I lost mine in 2009, I can’t survive winter without it.
Thank you, Santa. Give my best to the Mrs. and the elves in the workshop. Be sure to call if you get lost.
The goofy, skinny kid
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