Thursday, December 30, 2010

Dear Santa,

Hey-ya pal!! How's it going?!? Heard you paid us a visit a few nights ago. Thanks for that! The kids really enjoyed the new stereo system and CD's you brought for them. The wanted to know how you knew to get such a perfect gift...since one of our gifts to the kids was re-doing the toy room for them. Huh...weird...

Anyway, on to the real reason I'm writing you tonight...

Last year I mailed you a letter regarding what I wanted for Christmas. All I asked for were two simple things. A fat wallet and skinny thighs. I waited anxiously Christmas Eve...waiting...wondering. Woke up on Christmas morning and...nothing...nodda! I forgave you. I did kinda mail the letter a little late. I figured you must not have had time, what with all the other children you had on your list. Or maybe I was a little naughty. Hadn't been as nice enough to Mr. Goose Poop as I should have been. Or maybe yelled at the gooslings a few too many times. At any rate, I forgave you and vowed to work harder in 2010.

And I did. I was much, much better. I was nicer to Mr. Goose Poop, even ask him. And I toned it down with the gooslings a notch or two. I even remembered to mail the letter on time this year. Didn't you get it? I gave you a little sumthan' sumthan' extra in the envelope to help you remember me. I was the one that wanted the fat wallet and skinny thighs!! Ahh, yes, that's me. Remember me now?!?

So, Christmas Eve I could hardly stand myself. For in the morning, I'd be rich and skinny. Surely you wouldn't forget me this year like you did last. What a horrible thing to do to someone on Christmas. So I waited, I tossed, I turned. I cuddled Mr. Goose Poop extra tight that night. I finally fell asleep after hours of trying.

Christmas morning's here...I sprang out of bed, run to the mirror. Sure as shit...thunder thighs are still hanging on like the smell on a sock. Ok, Ok...that was alot to ask for I guess. Must be you had to choose one or the other. Fat wallet or skinny thighs. You chose the fat wallet. I can live with that. I'll be rich now and can just buy the skinny thighs. No biggie.

I jog (thighs jiggling all the way!) down the stairs and to my purse. Flat as a pancake! No extra bills smiling at me. No Visa, Mastercard, or Discover hanging out waiting to be found. What the hell, dude?!? Seriously?!? That's two years in a row now. Two! Are you kidding me?!?

Look, Dear Santa Clause, I'm giving you one more year to get this right. By this time next year, if my wallet is skinny and my thighs are fat...I'm totally outing you to the kids, man! Try me! I'll so tell them you're a big fat fake! I'll take my credit where my credit is due. No more telling the kids the big fat guy in the red suit brought you those gifts you think mom and dad's can't afford! I'll let them know how we saved for months, and thought of just the right gift that they'd all love.

I'm warning you Mr. Clause...this is it. This is your last chance. I've hadituptohere with these games. For the last's a fat wallet and skinny thighs. I'll be seein' ya round I guess. Keep me in mind. For next year buddy....that's it. Consider this your last warning, pal!

Mrs. Goose Poop


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