Are You There Santa? It’s Me Again

Dear Santa,

I hope there are no hard feelings about all the mean things I said about you after you did not bring me anything I asked you for last year. It’s not my fault because I think I have Tourette’s syndrome and f-bombs and rude comments fly out of my mouth uncontrollably sometimes.

So, sorry.

But anyway, if you’re not still pissed at me, I have a few more things on my list this year.

I deserve lots of presents because I have been sorta good. I did get in one fight with a lady that works at my dry cleaners but she started it. Because I am so conscious of saving our planet I gathered up 573 wire hangers because there’s a sign on the door of my dry cleaners urging its customers to bring them back so they can recycle them. I was about to throw them all in my garbage can but remembered the sign and brought the hangers to my dry cleaners instead because I am all green that way. The lady at my dry cleaners, who actually looks like a man, was all “Well those hangers are just a big mess” and I was all “Do you want them or not” and she was all “Well I guess I have to take them” and I’m thinking that my environmentally friendly efforts are not at all appreciated and eventually me and man/woman are probably gonna scrap. But I don’t care because they aren’t a restaurant and no matter how much they don’t like me, they can’t spit in my food so I win.

Oh, and Santa? I have a job now so that should entitle me to way more gifts. And not just a job Santa. I’m assisting teachers at a junior high which means I am helping 8th and 9th graders learn important things. Mostly it’s relationship advice about how to land a decent boyfriend but that’s a subject that should have been taught when I was in 8th grade because then I might not have dated so many douchebags before I met Dave.

I’m not sure if you’re aware of this Santa but my twenty-five year high school reunion is this summer and I am going to need a lot of help in order to look my best. First of all, I’d like better boobs. I want them to defy gravity and I want to be able to skip wearing a bra if I feel like it. This is a gift you will need to outsource because I don’t want any of your creepy elves thinking that they will get to see me without a shirt on. However, if that one elf Hermie is still interested in dentistry, he can assist with some teeth whitening and/or porcelain veneers because that’s on the list too. I also need want a nutritionist, a personal trainer, and someone whose only responsibility is to pry the wine glass/donut out of my hand and then yell at me.

Then I want to have all the skin on my face lasered off because I understand that once all the bleeding and peeling has subsided, and my skin heals, it will feel and look as soft as a newborn baby’s ass. Next on my list is about a squillion units of Botox above each eyebrow and also a little Restylane for the vertical lines above my lip because Dave is tired of me asking him once a week if he can see them. He says he can’t but that’s only because he’s looking over my shoulder to see what’s on TV and not looking closely enough. Probably he just doesn’t want to get killed if he actually admits he can see the wrinkles I am freaking out about.

And Santa? This next request might be kinda hard but can I have a werewolf? I mean, you’re a mythical creature too so maybe you have some connections. I used to think I wanted a vampire but I have decided I want my make believe boy-toy to be hot with totally ripped abs. If you bring me a werewolf I can hide him in my closet and take him out when I feel like playing with him and by playing with him I mean making out with him. And because I already have a dog and dogs are kind of like wolves the werewolf can play with Chloe’s toys if it gets bored when I am at work. And Dave said it was okay if I asked you for a werewolf. Actually I didn’t ask Dave at all but probably he won’t mind.

I know it’s kind of a long, expensive list Santa but I totally need all these things. Don’t check your list though, K? Just take my word for it that I’ve been nice.

Signed,

Tracey (Don’t blow me off dude, I’m desperate)

P.S. I will leave a bottle of Stoli and some crack dip on the hearth of my artificial gas fireplace. Knock yourself out.