Please Send to North Pole

Dear Santa:

Okay. So I know this wasn’t the best day. And there’s no point in hiding it because of that whole “sees you when you’re sleeping thing” (which, with all due respect, does seem a bit....stalker-ish...don't you think?) so I thought I’d better drop you a quick note to explain and ‘fess up, as it were. I believe it would be fair to say that, while I am not necessarily still qualified to be on the “nice” list, I think I deserve at least a chance to explain myself before being sent unceremoniously to the “naughty” list. Clearly, I was under no small amount of duress.

I know what you’re thinking and yes, I probably shouldn’t have mouthed those unkind words—okay, exaggeratedly mouthed—at that woman who went racing by me in that crowded parking lot. But Santa, she scared the bejeebers out of me. See for yourself—I’m bejeeberless. (In fact, you may want to add bejeebers to my Christmas list…I don’t suppose it’s good to wander around the world without bejeebers.) Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one offering an opinion on her driving skills, given the number of honks I heard after she sped past me.

Okay, yeah, so that guy who stole my parking place probably doesn’t really have such questionable parentage as I might have implied. But I know he saw me waiting for that spot and he just shoved his big old mini-van in there anyway. Besides, it’s not like I used one finger to illustrate my estimation of his IQ, though I dearly wanted to. That’s worth points, isn’t it?

While it is true that I thought distinctly uncharitable thoughts about those women at Value Village who stood two feet from the dressing rooms, blocking the entire aisle with bodies and carts, loudly pondering whether this or that skirt was too tight (the aisle sure was with them in the bloody middle of it), I didn’t say them out loud, did I? I did not. And look what a good sport I was when I went to find the Christmas tins that I came in for in the first place, and the nicest, brightest one turned out, once opened, to smell exactly like feet. I was not delighted, no, but I didn’t throw it. That was good, I thought. (Although I’m still pondering what in the world the original gift in that tin was…..and how I can be certain that I’m never on that person’s gift list).

While it is true that I rolled my eyes heavenward the fourth time the woman at Ben Franklin moved to stand directly between me and the books I was looking at (or, more accurately, trying to look at), I did not suggest to her that some assistance with her reading skills might be in order, given that it apparently took her 20 minutes and four tries to figure out which of four magazines she might want to purchase. Indeed, I went all the way over to pet the alpaca yarn and kept my thoughts to myself. My head might have exploded but so great is my respect for our deal…..well. For you, Santa. It’s all for you.

Speaking of Ben Franklin, I’ll have you notice that I purchased a gift for someone but even in the face of all that temptation, I only purchased one knitting magazine for myself. Sure, I petted quite a bit of yarn (I’m sure the store owner didn’t mean that bit about my having to purchase a gross of yarn if I didn’t stop rubbing the fuzz off of it), but I did not bring one skein home for me. Moreover, I feel that the knitting magazine thing rather came out even, given that I chose it quickly in the moments my view wasn’t blocked and only discovered once home that it has about one item I’d actually make. You could hardly say I benefited there.

By the way, I think you should thank your lucky stars that “reindeer really know how to fly”, at least in the greater Seattle area. The roads were so packed with shoppers today that I feared for whatever remained of my sanity trying to get home. Notice that I refrained from offering any sorts of opinions regarding the private behaviors of the other drivers when I sat through the same light four times because people kept not noticing it had turned green. (G for green, G for go…how hard can that BE???) If I were you, I would definitely stick to a higher altitude. (Watch out for our volcano, though. I don’t think it would get you…but better to be safe than sorry.)

In the end, I think it is clear that I behaved as well as could be expected, given the extraordinary challenges of the day. It is my sincere hope that you might take this into consideration when making your final decision as regards that little issue we discussed. You know, the one about the little backyard flock of sheep.

Regards,
Ms. Knitingale.

P.S. I would definitely watch the sheep when you fly over the volcano. You know how burning wool smells.

P.P.S As you may know, I am typing this in Word (to be copied and pasted into Blogger later) because my husband will not allow me to use the computer that has internet access. He says he will set my yarn on fire if I don’t quit bugging him about it. I was going to ask that you leave coal in his stocking but, on further examination, it seems that perhaps something with which to build fires would be a poor choice. I wonder if you could leave him some non-flammable rocks, instead.