Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

It's that time of year again and I wanted to be sure to drop you a note before you get things packed up in a few weeks.

First of all, let's get the formalities out of the way. I have been a very, very, good girl. Yes, I know that my mood swings can be lethal. And yes, I'm completely aware that I'm the only person in our house who can still smell the cat pee and that my obsession with it is making my family crazy but you can understand, right? I'm pretty sure Mrs. Claus was no picnic while battling hot flashes, either.

Anyway, I'm sorry to get sidetracked like that. Happens often. Where were we? Oh yes....the list.

I really thought long and hard about what I wanted this year and it wasn't easy coming up with a few ideas for you because frankly, life is good in spite of the fact that the economy is in the crapper and I have neighbours who insist on decorating their yards like the Griswolds.

I'm all for the Christmas spirit but there is something creepy about fake deer that are lit up and positioned right beside a giant Frosty inflatable who's within spitting distance of a little baby Jesus ALL ON THE SAME LAWN. It's like Sybil was the art director.

In any case, here's my list with only the most important items:

1. More Botox. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it. I have no desire to possess the ability to crinkle my brow again. Ever.

2. A sports bra that fits. Oh, you think I am kidding. I have spent hours combing the local stores looking for a garment that is designed to harness something more than a "B" cup. And the results have been dismally predictable. Either I become Miss Uniboob 2009, in which the girls are mashed together and squashed down so I look like I've plastered a sausage roll to my chest and dear God, the bloody thing is tight enough to cut off the circulation to my brain or I try on one of those babies with "medium" support that, while allowing for some of their natural shape to remain, really just enables the mamos to run amok. Neither of these options is pretty. What is the solution because Santa, fat girls need exercise, too?

3. A pool. I know that we talked about this a couple of years ago. My husband is dead set against putting a pool in our backyard. He would prefer to JUST BUY A NEW HOUSE that already had one, which would be a reasonable option if our cat coughed up Ben Franklins instead of hairballs. The prospect of spending yet another Arkansas summer sweltering in the type of humidity that sucks every last bit of reason from one's pores has me worried. My hormones are already waging a daily battle with my sanity. If you throw in wet, sticky, soaring temperatures, I think I might become dangerous.

4. Good news. Can you bring some of that? I'm tired of:

The real estate swan dive.
"Short sale! Short sale! Come buy for pennies on the dollar while your future neighbours look on in horror as their property values circle the drain."

The credit card banks.
"Oh, we're still going to screw ya' but this time, we'll do it with the lights on"

War.
"Because America will accomplish what the Mongols, British, Persians and Soviets couldn't and if we can't we'll be outta there by the next election"

teenagers
reality tv
reality tv wannabes
ex spouses
stories of infidelity
Nancy Pelosi
Glenn Beck
natural thyroid shortage
the I.R.S.
health insurance companies
irresponsible overseas factories

Whew.

Anyway, that's it. Reasonable, I think, for the most part. You will note that I didn't mention world peace, winning the lottery and ending global poverty because you know that those requests are simply understood.

Thank you, Santa.

And all the best to the Mrs.

Love, Beth

P.S. I'll be leaving you a jar of mincemeat this year, which I don't mind telling you, I slaved to make a few weekends back. It is spectacular. You probably don't want to eat the shortbreads that will accompany it because while she thought we weren't looking, Olivia licked the knife after every cookie she iced. Just an FYI.