By Emma Kaneti
Dear Santa, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. If you are looking for me on the nice list, I can tell you I’m not there. I don’t have cookies for you either. But what I do have is a very particular set of skills—skills I have acquired over a very long career of the five years in elementary school. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you obey my Christmas list, that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you. I will not pursue you. But if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you and I will kill you.
So help me God, the calamity of Christmas pasts will not be repeated. In consecutive seasons of festivity, I have been disgruntled, then livid, then explosively vehement. These were not the times of jolliness, but of melancholy. December after December, I have requested, wished, pleaded…for what? For another pair of argyle socks? For a picture frame? For another calendar? For a trial membership? Santa, please, when I die, I’d like you to lower my coffin into the grave so that you can let me down one last time.
In my elementary career, I’ve seen that three out of four times, ultimatums increase the recipient’s satisfaction by 100 percent. (The Easter Bunny hopped away too fast that one time for me to get my chocolate.) Dearest Santa, you wouldn’t like to see Mrs. Claus widowed, would you? Don’t worry about trying to escape; you’re not going anywhere – what with your morbid obesity and unreliable getaway (Rudolph is loyal to any source of affection, which I have, of course, established). I’ve covered all of my bases Santa. Even if you can hide, I’ll run you down to the tip of the compass, to your very own pole. Where will you go then? So, I think my point has been made: No presents (of my liking), no Santa. Now, we will proceed accordingly to the list, in no particular order.
1. The Hannah Montana deluxe package with a piece of her hair. (Mind you, this is not included in the deluxe package; I never said this was going to be easy Santa.)
2. The complete first or second season of “The Big Bang Theory.”
3. A mixtape by Drake dedicated to me.
4. A bidet (I prefer the Toto brand).
5. A two-liter bottle of Coke to share with myself.
6. A stuffed chicken.
7. A bottle of non-scented lotion.
8. The ability to turn into a llama at my pleasure.
9. A red button with a three millimeter diameter
10. The Google website domain. (If this is too difficult, try Bing; no one will even notice.) 11. Five dollars in pennies packaged in a small velvet bag
12. The “Shrek 2” soundtrack.
13. An unlimited data plan (FYI, Verizon is my carrier).
14. Five-foot-long hair
15. That most of the presents for my family are redirected to my possession.
16. A human sized poster of Bill O’Reilly.
17. A pot from Colorado.
18. One of the Spice Girls.
Santa, please don’t underwhelm me, for we both know where that path ends up. I know that you can make this happen. You’re not a marketing scheme, you’re the large jolly man in the folklore about whom my parents taught me. And I’m the sweet little child who still believes in you… that’s my alibi.
XOXO, We’ll see what sort of relationship this is.
P.S. I thought you might like to lose some weight, so I’m leaving you ultra skim milk and a V8.