I know it’s early, but since my birthday is rather close to Christmas, each year I’d be considerate and have only one wish-list, if any, just to make Santa’s life a little easier. This year though, I have a case to fight with him. Here’s why.
Ok, my note originally read:
Hope you’re well and Mrs. Santa has eased up on all the nagging about your waistline. I mean, after all she’s got to understand that you can’t really let go of your signature look, can you? Imagine what’d happen it you turned into some Arnold-type beefcake! Awful! Just stay away from empire-line and baby-doll styles, Santa, and no one will think you’re carrying a baby, I’m sure of that.
As for me, I have been a good girl this year. At least against my standards, I have. This year all I want for Christmas is : Mr. X. I’d only want to be friends to: Mr. Y. I’d like delivered at my door: 2 tonnes of roti bread. I won’t need: any weight loss. I’m forever grateful for all your kindness. Big thank you, Santa. Hugs, Amy
But somehow, during his rush to get things done quickly this Christmas, (everyone’s got a deadline, you know) St. Nicholas has got it all wrong! Boohoooo… I mean, I’ve tried to sympathise, what with the economic downturn and everybody trying to save whatever cents they have left after they’ve filled their tanks and paid for their groceries, I guess the amount of letters to Santa this year must have at least tripled that of any previous year! But still, he got mine so wrongity wrongity wrong, that I think he’s really losing either his marbles, or his eyesight, or both! Because he must have mixed up all the punctuation marks in the most important bit of my note:
… This year all I want for Christmas is. Mr. X: I’d only want to be friends to. Mr. Y: I’d like delivered at my door. 2 tonnes of roti bread: I won’t need. Any weight loss: I’m forever grateful. For all your kindness, big thank you, Santa. Hugs, Amy
And now you see why dear Santa really need to book that appointment with an optometrist? SOON! You see why we should all, maybe, each chip in a bit to pay for his new glasses? Because I don’t think his pensioner’s healthcare card covers optical or dental, which may explain all the mix-up.
Looks like I’m on my own now… *sighs* Trying to take Mr. X off my mind and myself off Mr. Y’s mind. Will also have to work my butt off to afford all that roti bread and get those precious few kilos back. Not happy, Santa! Not happy at all!
~sulking in a corner~