Thanks for the recent letter you sent to me in response to my Christmas list. I must say, though, Santa, I’m a little disappointed in your attitude about my Christmas needs as opposed to my wants.
I was very surprised with your attitude about my desire to have a Wii game system. What do you mean you’re going to leave me a jump rope instead of a Wii? I thought you were in the business of making people happy. According to you, it will a better form of exercise, and I definitely need that. You seem to think I’d be in better shape if I get off my backside and actually move more than just my arms. Wait a minute, old man, I believe you’re carrying a good bit more weight under that red velvet that I’ve ever seen, and I don’t see you out running in any marathons. Besides that, I don’t need you telling me how to take care of me; the government had decided that’s their job now.
And then you had the audacity to say that no more than I push the Hoover around, it wouldn’t hurt me to get a little more muscle in my arms. Excuse me? My arms work just fine, thank you. And what is all this nonsense about my cat communicated to you that she didn’t want that little funny-looking critter around. Even if you can communicate with my cat because of all that magical hoodoo, since when do you listen to the cat over me? Did PETA put you on their payroll or something?
Oh, yeah, and I loved the comment about keeping my old curtains. You mean, I’m not even going to get my new green things for the house? You said I should go green by trying a little recycling and riding my bicycle instead of getting in the car. Don’t you care about me at all? You know these people on the highway aim for bicyclists, just like they do mailboxes. I thought I knew you better than that, Santa.
So I guess I can write off the wonder products to help me look younger, too, huh. I take it that’s what you meant when you said for me to quit worrying about getting older. Compared to you, you know, I’m a spring chicken. Well, I don’t know exactly what a spring chicken is, but just because I creak when I walk and groan when I get up in the morning doesn’t mean I have to look my age. Unlike you, I can’t hide my wrinkles under a long white beard. I think you’ve lost touch with reality, Santa, because everyone knows in this day and time, looking good is much more important than what’s under the cover.
I’m a little sad, Santa. I’ve always been one of your biggest supporters, persuading all the naysayers that you really exist and are the keeper of dreams, but from your letter, I have to assume you’ve now adopted another agenda instead of making my Christmas a great one. Oh, well, Santa, I guess I’ll just have to go to a more reliable source and put my list out for the hubby, but this does make me wonder a bit. Who is getting what they want for Christmas this year? You don’t have political aspirations, do you, Santa?
Aggravated but still your friend,
P.S. Oh, yeah, Santa, you can keep the jump rope. I do enough jumping up and down around here as it is.