To: slantyjaws@hotmail.com
Subject: Jingle
Hell
Dear Santy,
First of all,
excuse the mess. Lest you weren’t aware,
we’ve got three kids. And don’t you dare
try and tell me that the baby, who can’t walk and talk yet, hardly generates
much of a mess. Have you seen our
laundry baskets? Yes, you heard
correctly.
Baskets. Plural.
Kids. There’s that plural again.
And what’s
more, they’re boys. The two that are
walking and talking, more than make up for what the baby isn’t capable of doing
yet, let me assure you.
Now, back to
business. This year I would like some of
that old favourite; -time. To myself
that is. Not to be confused with thyme,
the herb, which is used in cooking. I’m
just making sure there is no room for error here, you understand. Making sure we are on the same page, as it
were. And while we’re on the subject of
pages, don’t bother with a book.
Don’t get me
wrong, I love a good book, but as it’s difficult to find the time to read them,
they are of little use to me. Do you see
where I’m coming from? See what I’m
getting at?
If you want to
really impress me, eyes in the back of my head would be wonderful. Hey, if you can manage to deliver presents to
all those kids, under such a strict time limit, this should be a breeze for
you.
Failing that, a full and uninterrupted twelve
hour sleep would just about cut the mustard.
For double
brownie points, an extra pair of hands would be great, if that’s not too much
to ask.
If you have any
of that magic sparkle dust you use to get yourself out of awkward chimneys,
could you leave us a jar or two of it?
If it can get you out of chimney’s, a little will surely go a long way
in my house. Making a mess disappear,
tidying the kitchen, washing up after a meal, emptying the washing machine,
that sort of thing. I know this stuff is
in existence as I saw that interloper Tim Allen use it in The Santa Clause
movie on telly over the weekend. Come
on, big guy, share the love.
Right so, I
reckon that’s enough for you to be getting along with. Looking forward to getting some of the
above. Please note they are not in order
of preference.
To: slantyjaws@hotmail.com
Subject: Jingle Hell
Santy, with
regard to your rather, if I may say so, sarcastic reply to my previous
letter, I have to say I was not best impressed.
Ta bron orm, Santy, ta bron orm.
Boys will be
boys is not an appropriate response to my predicament. I dare say you are, “up to ninety” to quote
your good self, but by now you must be well used to late requests. I realise mine may be quite unorthodox and
not of the usual demands you are so obviously used to getting, given your
reluctance to help this stretched mother out.
But for the love of Christmas, it’s your job man. Get over it!
And just to issue a gentle reminder, you have now entered the twenty
first century and a woman’s place most certainly is not in the kitchen. Got that old man? You can keep your poxy magic glitter if you
want then, but in return, I would like you to, shall we say, remove,
a certain annoying pink pig from a particular children’s channel. I can arrange for a small amount of cash to
exchange hands if it would be of some help.
Is mise le
meas.
To: slantyjaws@hotmail.com
Subject: Jingle Hell
To the fat man
in the red suit. Call yourself
Santy? You should be ashamed of
yourself. Ashamed of yourself. In this current climate, some of us need all
the help we can get. Can’t say I’m all
that surprised though. “Someone” once left
me a Tiny Tears doll instead of a First Love, and don’t for a second assume I
fell for your “Andrea down the road got the last one” excuse. Shoddy work, Santy, extremely shoddy
work. Start as you mean to go on, is it?
Seems to me you’re not taking your job seriously at all. In fact, I think you’re past it. Miss Piggy was not who I was referring
to. Miss Piggy is so dated, today’s
average five year old probably never heard of her. The target, old timer, is
Peppa Pig. Peppa fricken Pig. Not the hardest thing in the world to
remember surely. Get with the programme.
No pun intended.
And I’m curious
about something. Do you own a mirror at all?
Red so isn’t your colour.
Regards. Not.
To: slantyjaws@hotmail.com
Subject: Jingle Hell
Santy, you,
of all people, dare to give me a sob story?
The recession is not confined to Ireland, is it? The recession is
worldwide, is it? Tell me something I
don’t know!
You’ve had to
let off a few elves, have you? So? What has that got to do with the price of
eggs? Or me for that matter. Listen, I’m a busy woman. Things to do, places to go and all of
that. It’s a busy time of year, or
hadn’t you noticed? We’ve all got our
problems, Santy Claus, I don’t appreciate you sharing yours with me. Last I heard, there was a Mrs. Claus. Isn’t that her job?
All I’m asking
for here is a little bit of help. It
being the season of good will and all that.
Remember? Remember?
To: slantyjaws@hotmail.com
Subject: Jingle Hell
You’ve been
surprisingly quiet of late there, Saint Nick.
Hope it’s because you’ve been pulling out all the stops to get a least
one item on my list. Not long to go now,
just a couple of weeks. No
pressure.
Thought you
might like to know that my four year old has changed his mind yet again about
what he wants. Made it somewhat
difficult for me to source his latest request.
But I did it. I. did.
It.
Think on.
To: slantyjaws@hotmail.com
Subject: Silent Night
Dear Santy, I
do hope things are beginning to fall into place for you at this late stage in
the game. It’s been a couple of days
since I’ve been in touch myself. I
realise you have been under considerable pressure of late and I fervently hope
that my e-mails weren’t too much of a distraction. No hard feelings, eh? I also believe that you were laid up for a
short while there. Sorry to hear about
that.
I paid a visit
to my own good doctor during the week.
He sent me on a little chemical holiday.
You know how it can be. Strangely
enough, he was eager to do the same last Christmas and I felt it wasn’t my
place to say otherwise.
Anyway, if it
makes things slightly easier for you this year, it wouldn’t be the end of the
world if I received items other than the ones requested on my previous wish
list. It would be perfectly ok, for
example, if I discovered hand cream of an exceptional quality under the tree on
Christmas morning. All that washing up
takes its toll you know. I wouldn’t be
adverse to a new hoover either. I am
without at the moment due to an unfortunate accident. It’s not a good idea to vacuum ashes from
around the hearth whilst the fire is lit.
You know yourself how these things can happen. Lesson learnt.
I used to have
a beautiful plant that produced glorious white flowers at this time of year but
last week it met a messy end. Did I
mention I have three young boys, two of which are mobile? Very mobile.
Well, a replacement would be very much appreciated. Maybe a sturdy cactus.
If you could
see it in your heart to grant me any one of these things, I would be
delighted. And Santy, this list is in order of preference.
Wishing you and
yours all the best this festive season.
P.S. Please accept my apologies for the tree. It was taller.
And had more
decorations.
The boys.
Again.
Although the
carpet is my fault. The incident with
the hoover as referred to earlier.
Actually, on
second thoughts, you might just bypass the living room altogether. Safer to be honest. Just dump it all in the front room.
Many, many thanks and again, apologies for any
undue inconvenience caused.
The lying fecker - I NEVER got a First Love or a Tiny Tears for that matter. He left me a Swimming Sue and said your lot up the road needed the nice dolls coz there were 7 of you!
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