Santa Baby, Being that there are roughly (merely!) only 70 sleeps away from Christmakkuh and the consumerist parade apres and post, I wanted to offer my humble suggestion as to a proper gift with which you may send my way. Presumptuous as it may be, I just thought it might be helpful to you, given the heady list of tasks you and your elfin non-profit organization have to accomplish in said 70 nights henceforth, if I would specify my wish this holiday season in very concrete terms. And it looks like this:
Oh, sweet Santa, think me not a material girl. It's just that I could use a little sparkle in my life, and yes, the wee one you sent me a little late last year (like a whole week and 44 hours past the date of expectation, but anyway) does lend a certain immeasurable glint to my days. But I would like some new, patently impractical footwear, you see, Santa, since my better half is a firm believer in gifting me with technology, like a wireless mouse, for instance, which, be assured, does make me sentimental every time I point and click, but Santa? Is there room on your list this year for pretty pretty bubblegum rainbows hearts stars and a pair of SHIZ-NINE-Y BALLET SLIPPERS?
I suppose you've heard the one about how I've been a good girl all year, washed 133,535,352,359,757.46 dishes with a cheerful heart, and have only taken 2 showers over the last 9 months that have been without the audience of a wee sucktopus and haven't complained once. At least not to the internet. Until now.
So, Santa, if you've got some extra space in that big arctic-proof sack of yours this year? I'd like these kicks very much. Please and thank you and milk and cookies.