posted on: Saturday December 7, 2019
I don’t really know if this is in your jurisdiction, but I don’t know who else to ask. The city won’t listen to me, even though I have sent at least six letters (studies show that’s usually the most effective number). I don’t know if you can assemble some of your reindeer and hook them up to something other than a sleigh or if you could just sprinkle some Christmas magic on the road, but I would really appreciate having the bike lane back on Eaton Street. Nothing gave me greater joy than peddling along in my own special lane, safely protected from cars by those nice yellow poles. Sometimes if I was feeling daring, I would weave through them. It was all great fun. I know a lot of people were upset by it and I know it only really works if you’re going in one direction, but it made me feel special. It made me feel like the city really cared about my relationship with my bike. And now, it’s like it doesn’t matter…it’s like I don’t matter. Please, if you can work some Christmas miracle, bring the bike lane back. I need it in my life. My bike and I are depending on you.
Too-Tired to Do Any More
You’re gonna be surprised.
I know I usually ask for some material things like makeup from Sephora, trendy accessories, or a new pair of heels. But this year I am asking— well, begging— for something different. Look, the last four years I have felt like I was living in a magical land, kinda like the North Pole. But, alas, good things must come to an end. As much as I try to be in denial, I have to admit that I am graduating college in the spring. And you see, there’s a ton going on in my neck of the woods. I know you’re a super busy person, but so am I nowadays. I don’t even have time to check Instagram or upload pictures to my new Facebook album called “Year 4.” I’m not trying to one-up you or anything, but I have had a ton of all-nighters recently; back to back days with zero sleep. On top of doing all of my homework and cramming for my never-ending finals week, I have been sending out a mountain of applications. It’s like I’ve been on autopilot, whipping out cover letters like your elves make toys. And I feel like, since it is Christmas time and all, miracles happen. It’s the season of giving! So please, would you put in a good word for me and leave a job offer underneath my tree?
A Stressed Senior
Let’s get one thing straight. This Christmas is going to be a little different from last year’s, okay? It isn’t too big of a deal, but there was a little bit of a mixup with the presents I think. I understand, though. You have a lot to deal with delivering all those presents in one night, squeezing down tiny chimneys, and figuring out whose toys are whose. So like I said, not a huge deal, but I think you have a little bit of experience by now so I just wanted to point out your mistake. Last year, I asked for a bunch of bows to put in my hair, remember? Susie Hayes used to wear her hair like that all the time, and I wanted to have my hair look just like hers. Only better, of course. Even after I specified this very clearly, all you gave me were ribbons. They were beautiful ribbons and all, but how is that going to help me decorate my hair? My mom told me that the bows are created by ribbons, but really Santa? I’m seven. How am I supposed to make a bow with ribbon? It is a little ridiculous to me. This year, I will make it a little easier for you. I like headbands now, and not ones that I have to make. Just regular, cute, fun headbands. Preferably pink. Thank you Santa!
I need you to do me a favor. So my mom got me these wicked cool Jordans for my birthday last month, right? The thing is, though, I lost them. Like, basically the next day. BUT, they’re mad expensive, right? So here’s what I need you to do.
I need you to find a pair of Air Jordans Retro 13, the black and teal kind, and beat ’em up for me a bit. Like, I dunno, have one of your elves wear ’em around, scuff ’em up, whatever. Then, I need you to get the box a little messed up, too. Crush it a little, maybe tear at the corners, just make it look like it’s ~been through~ some things, y’know? Okay, and then, and like, this is the wicked important part so pay attention please, I need you to NOT put them under the tree or near my stocking. Leave ’em by my room—if you go up the stairs and turn right, it’s the second door on the left.
DON’T LEAVE THEM UNDER THE TREE. Not unless you want me to be DEAD. Because if my mom finds out that I lost a $200 pair of shoes, I might as well just go bury myself in the ground.
So remember, Santa: find the shoes, rough ’em up, and leave ’em directly with me.