Santa Baby.

Dear Santa,

I imagine you were surprised to open your inbox and find an email from me. Since we broke up several years ago after what I refer to as "the incident", I swore it would be a cold day in the South Pole before I spoke to you again.

I ran into Donder at Wal-Mart and he said you recently married again. I hear you guys passed that dangerous six month mark, so congrats for the commitment. Donder's wife says the new Mrs. C. is a little younger than you. Well actually what she said is that your wife is so young, she still believes in you.

So why am I contacting you now when I haven't seen or spoken to you since that night you were arrested in Moline wearing nothing but a mitten and the scarf that gay snowman gave you as a present for slow dancing with him to "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen"? (In the interest of truth by the way, I recall it was a super small mitten. One might even call it petite.)

It's simple, really. I am sick and tired of getting diddly squat for Christmas. I swear on Rudolph's bulb, I'm gonna go all Heat Meister on your ass if you don't pony up with something a normal woman might even remotely want to find under her tree. No multi-colored socks, no Tupperware and for heaven's sake, NO ten dollar gift sets of cheap make-up and bubble bath.

Look, I know why I have been angry with you for so long. You took my heart right out of my chest and stomped on it and never even said you were sorry. One minute I'm thinking we're all good and that you were going to give up drinking and bowling with the elves every freakin' night and the next thing I know, I'm pulling you off some ho-ho-ho who you were evidently glad to see 'cause there was a candy cane in your pocket.

But why, Santa? Why have you been so upset with me? Why such a grudge that I've suffered years and years of crappy gifts?

Was I somehow unkind? If you call stapling your jingle bells together while you were passed out under the sleigh unkind, then yes. Maybe I was somewhat mean from time to time. Maybe I could have been a little less, "Hey, let's staple Santa's chestnuts together" and a little more, "Hey Santa, let's talk about our feelings and crap".

Was I ever unfaithful to you? OK. Maybe I cheated a tiny bit, and I do mean tiny. In fairness, that elf was less than a foot tall and he threw himself at me. You totally know that never would have happened had there been a little less nog and a lot more egg and attention from you.

We've both been hurt, all right? Let's call it square and agree to forgive and forget. Whaddya say? Just to prove I'll meet you half way, I'll forego the fruit cake and milk on your Christmas snack plate and leave you what you really want.

Jello shots.

I hope to hear from you soon, Santa and I hope that when I wake up Christmas morning, I'll find something fabulous with a bow around it just for me. (And I DO NOT mean that same old all occasion gift you always gave me...and half the female elf population... for every birthday, anniversary and Wednesday.)

Most sincerely,
Sher

PS: Make sure you leave that little Easy Bake Oven loving, North Pole Girls Gone Wild starring, HO-HO-HO in the sleigh when you stop by my house Christmas Eve. Frankly, I'm afraid if Mr. Man sees her he'll forget he adores me and trade in his badge for some pointy shoes.

This one's for you, Santa Baby.

Copyright © 2004-2006, Sherri Bailey
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