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This post is part of my 2022 Word Project. You can read what that’s about here.

Monday, December 18, 2023

Dear Santa,

It’s been a long time since I wrote you a letter and things have changed. Mostly I’ve gotten old, gray and fat, but the things I need in life have changed, too. Since you never did come through with that toy made by the elves, I figured I’d appeal to your magical nature and see if we can get the job done this time.

No, I don’t want a toy made by elves. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. So it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start with a non-stick frying pan.

Does this sound dull and ordinary? Think you can just pop on over to Amazon and take care of that in a twinkling? I invite you to try. When you’re done reading through the reviews that say the coating peeled off in a week, and the reviews that say everything stuck anyway, and when you’re done weeding out the ones with the coating that everyone says will get into your food and kill you, just send it on over.

While you’re at it, I would like an electric griddle that lasts more than a year. I’ve already been through six in the past five years, so if you find a better one, I’m all in. Otherwise just add me to your recurring task list so every Christmas I’ll have a working griddle again.

Since we’re in the kitchen, please send two dozen sets of silverware. I’m not sure where my spoons keep disappearing to, but I’m down to three, and now someone is absconding with my forks, too. It would be helpful if you could just hold onto these in your magical dimension and dispense them as necessary because I really don’t have the room for two dozen sets of silverware. I mean, unless you can get me some magical expanding drawers?

And how about some measuring cups? But not any old measuring cups. Trust me, I’ve had many. No, I want measuring cups that have the measurement printed on them so I can actually read it and never accidentally put a half cup into something when it should have been a third. That means no stickers. I mean, who puts stickers on measuring cups? Don’t people wash them? Don’t stickers come off?

And none of that stupid etching, either. Remember the part about being old? How am I supposed to read a millimeter of etching on the handle of a cup? I can barely read a stop sign.

While we’re at it I wouldn’t mind some butter. Have you seen what butter costs? Tell you what – I’ll buy my own phone and my own shoes and my own car. You just keep the butter stocked.

And now that I’ve got your attention, just drop off a box of random container lids. Some of them are probably mine anyway. I’m not sure how I keep ending up with bottoms without tops, but maybe the lid ran away with the spoon.

Let’s move on.

After decades of scoffing at the mere thought, what I would really like for Christmas is socks.

I just looked, and there is a hole in my socks AGAIN. The good ones, too. The squishy, warm ones. The ones I spent extra on because I got tired of wearing Ralph’s leftover rejects.

I wear Ralph’s leftover rejects when I walk on the treadmill, because I don’t wear shoes and the belt is wearing. I wear Ralph’s leftover rejects when I feel like slathering my feet in oil and don’t want to ruin my good ones. I wear Ralph’s leftover rejects to walk around the house, sometimes I even walk all the way down to the mailroom in them.

Do you know how many holes are in them? Zero. Zero holes. These ugly leftover reject socks are going to last forever.

In the meantime, I am down to two pairs of my warm squishy ones so I could use a few more. I could buy them for myself but have you seen the price of socks? NINE BUCKS! A PAIR!

While you’re at it, you may as well add that to your recurring task list, too.

Finally, I don’t want to be greedy, but if there’s any way you can give me a blanket that hangs more than an inch over each side of the bed so that both Ralph and I can have some, that would be fantastic.

Thanks for reading, and for all the bikes and sweaters and dollhouses over the years.

Love and cookies,


PS: I think I ate all the cookies. Sorry.

Photo: a visit from Santa at a friends house a few years ago. Their son was absolutely terrified that he hadn’t been good enough to merit a gift.