Sunday, 20 November 2011

My letter to Santa. PS, not even with fur edging...

Dear Santa

Sorry to be so formal about this, I know our communication over the years has been generally less convention-bound, (let us never, ever, mention that kiss under the mistletoe incident again), but I feel that now is the time for us to have a good heart-to-heart, get-it-all-out-in-the-open chat.

1.  No more household implements.  I know that sometimes I'm pressed for a wooden spoon, or dusting cloth, but - really?  Not even in my stocking.  Honestly. Even really quite expensive items.  Truly, no woman wants to wake up to a Johnny Depp-shaped article at the foot of her bed covered in holly-sprinkled paper only to tear off the wrappings to realise that a Dyson 390 Anti-Allergy Twin Cyclone Hoover has been humorously formed into a man-shaped parcel.
 Just, no.

2.  No presents that you secretly want.  I thought you might have got the message when last year's 'How to Handle Your Reindeer' book and 'Saucy Elves' pin-up calendar got shoved to the back of the understairs cupboard within seconds of opening.
Not even if it's top-to-floor Laura Ashley covered.  I shall still know...

3.  No clothing that makes me look like your mother.  I know that Mrs Claus is a fashion-conscious lady of impeccable taste and good looks, but that doesn't change the fact that she is four hundred and three.  Please, also, do not ask her for recommendations, you already know my views on slippers and cardigans.
Really, no.

4.  No clothes that you think I ought to wear.  Honestly, if it mentions 'peephole', 'split crotch,' 'easy access' or 'PVC', you can almost guarantee that I don't want it.  'Saucy' is open to debate, and 'tassels' we can talk about, but if it's anything that you think the girls at Peppermint Hippo might wear, then it's not for me.  Also, no underwear that makes it feel as though I am being slowly sawn in half by a piece of damp string.
 Possibly acceptable.

Unacceptable.
You are getting the point here, aren't you?

I shall await Christmas morning with interest. 

Yours expectantly,
Jane.

PS I know where you live....

6 comments:

Julie Cohen said...

One year, I got the Rock God a Playstation. He got me a bread maker.

Your point proven.

Jane Lovering said...

... and this is the sound I make when I am resting my case...

Chris Stovell said...

I wonder if Julie came to with a lock of the Rock God's hair in each fist?

Hope Santa reads this!

PS, Whilst you're reading Jane's letter, Santa, could I please add that no diamond is ever too big. Thank you.

Debs Carr said...

Wincing at the thought of the reaction the rock god must have received when giving that present!

Good luck that Santa reads this and takes note.

Cat Marsters/Kate Johnson said...

One year, I got a collection of screwdrivers. No, not the drink kind, the DIY kind.

Actually, that was an AWESOME present...

Jane Lovering said...

As with diamonds, you can never have too many screwdrivers. Or Allen keys. Doesn't mean I want them for Christmas, though. The Allen keys, not the diamonds...