Dear Santa,
Your existence has recently come to my attention, and you seem to be quite a nice gentleman. I am basing this mostly (okay, entirely) on the film Elf, which I found to be very enlightening. Why my parents never bothered to let me in on you before is well beyond me. I have reason to believe that they are long-time inhabitants of the Naughty List, so I’m strongly downplaying my associations to them.
I’m not quite sure exactly how this works, but I gather that you require some sort of proof that I have in fact been a “good boy” all year. Well, a year is a long time, big fella, but I feel my overall body of work should land me on the Nice List. Seems to be largely subjective, but here are a few reminders of how awesome I am, should you need something to tip the proverbial scales in my favor:
1. I am exceptionally cute. Seriously, ask around—I don’t want to brag, but I was recently named Cutest Baby on the Block.
2. Despite their regular misinterpretations of my inner feelings, I do in fact love and respect my parents. And my Bankie. Mostly Bankie.
3. I’m really not a “picky” eater. I’m just particular. Is it wrong to have taste? To hold out for the finer things in life, like cheese fries?
4. I am also very cute. You should come by some time when I’m asleep. Then you’ll see what’s up.
Okay, I think that pretty much locks down my Good List nod, so let’s get to the pith here, cut the niceties and get down to brass tacks. I’ve compiled a modest list of wants; I think it’s reasonable, not overly materialistic. So without further ado:
1. Remotes. I only have four at my disposal. And even those, more often than not, seem to be just out of my reach. Coincidence or conspiracy? If you could find some with less buttons, but buttons that light up, that would be perfect.
2. A Laptop. I don’t know why Daddy denies me the simple pleasure of banging repeatedly on his keyboard (Naughty List). Something so simple can make a child so happy. Therefore, I require my own. I hear Macs are nice.
3. Fridge Opener. I don’t know what’s wrong with our refrigerator door, but it only seems to open for Mommy and Daddy. I don’t like being at their mercy, my fridge time being meted out at their discretion. I’d like to be a fridge roadie, so to speak—access all areas. Fridge VIP. The gift that keeps on giving.
4. More Bath Time. Pretty self-explanatory, big guy. If we could cut out the face-washing part, too, that would be swell.
5. New Bedtime Book. Seriously, how many times are they going to insist on reading me Goodnight, Moon? I get it already—say goodnight to everything in the room. Apparently this includes literary variety.
6. A Kiwi Tree. An older one, already bearing fruit, preferably. Patience is not one of my greater traits (though I do have many—see above).
And that’s it, my friend. I thank you in advance for making the journey and delivering the goods. I think you’ll find yourself some cookies and warm milk on the table. But if not, you have my permission to help yourself to whatever you can find. Except the kiwis, buddy.
