Dear Santa: Please Take Me Away!

Michelle Momper

Three months ago, just about the time the local swimming pools closed their doors, my son started a Christmas list. It now consists of four pieces of copy paper taped together into one long scroll of detailed items. He has even included the prices, and where to find the merchandise. If I bought him everything on the list, I would need a second mortgage on my house.

Included at the top of the list is a heartfelt note to the big guy. I think he wanted to cover all the bases. It says: Dear Santa, I have been a really, really, really good boy this year. I hope you can come to my house. P.S. I really, really, really want the Death Star.

Although I’m not exactly sure what Death Star he’s referring to, I think it’s expensive. He then went on to have about five more P.S.’s, filled with contingency plans should the first four gift requests not work out. I think he’s on to something.

So I thought I’d give it a go, even though I rarely write a list for myself. Oh, I have a running Christmas list for my children, my husband (which primarily consists of lawn equipment), and every immediate and distant relative living in the United States. I usually just tell someone at the last minute that I’m out of socks. So this year I’m being daring. I’m writing it down and going public:

Dear Santa,

I have been really, really, really good this year. I have continued to perfect my multi-tasking skills, simultaneously keeping a semi-clean household, sending my children to school, and creating somewhat respectable meals in the crockpot … on occasion.

I don’t want a big car or a fancy coat. I don’t really even care about appliances. What I do want is an all-expenses paid trip. Not with my family, as much as I love them. Not with clients or colleagues or relatives. I want to fly far, far away (and can I just see what it’s like in first-class?) to a warm island with sandy beaches. I want a man-servant at my beck and call, and I want five of my closest girlfriends there too.

We need therapy. We need to relax. We need to know that the world continues to revolve without us, regardless of homework emergencies or lost shoes. I want to have a conversation that does not involve bills, work, deadlines, home repairs or schedules.

I want to dance to 80s music without shame, drink flamboyant and powerful cocktails, and not have to wake up early the next day to fix breakfast. I want a really good book that has no literary significance whatsoever, and I want an unlimited credit card so I can take all my friends shopping. I really, really, really hope you can help.

Your friend, Michelle.

P.S. I wouldn’t mind a manicure. P.P.S. Oh, and a pedicure. P.P.P.S., and maybe a facial. Happy Holidays!