All I want for Christmas: a letter to Santa

Dear Santa (I assume I can call you that after all this time),

yep, it’s that time of year again. You’ll remember me, no doubt, from the now-infamous letter of last year in which I begged you for a body-double since, more than anything else, I craved being able to have a full-night’s sleep, and if I had a body-double they would be able to do all the bits and pieces around the house, including dealing with daughter and husband, whilst I slept. I appreciate that it was a big ask. It probably didn’t help my case to bring up Christmas 1982 when I asked for a Big Brother, or the festive missive of 1985 when I asked for, and didn’t get, a puff-ball skirt (still a sore point.) But I did ask and you didn’t see fit to make my Christmas wish come true, so I can only assume that my behaviour was less-than-impeccable.

With that in mind, I have adjusted my expectations accordingly, and thought it would be best to confess my misdemeanours in the hopes that you will look favourably on honesty and apology since the threats of last year weren’t as successful as I would have liked. It’s true that you expect good behaviour year round, but I’m hoping that the rude words and general appalling behaviour that I exhibited whilst in labour could be put down to me having a bad day. Likewise I’m hoping that the times I may have shouted at fellow drivers whilst in the car could be viewed as offering advice to better their driving skills. Naturally I needed to shout so that they could hear me through two windows. I’m afraid that I have been a bit short with my husband over the last few months which would be harder to explain, were it not for the fact that I have, of late, discovered Twitter, which requires that life be shortened to 140 characters or less. In similar vein to Method Actors, I fear that my efforts to be brief online may have spilled over into everyday life.

Confessions out of the way, I think that you will find my list perfectly reasonable this year. I tried not to do the gift-for-every-year-of-my-life that I did when I turned 30, primarily since I no longer wish to be reminded of my exact age. That said, I often have to think about my age when filling in forms, such is the confusion that having two young children can bring, so it may be that a reminder would be quite helpful. But I digress. I’d be grateful if your elves could provide me with the following to better aid my attempts to become a better Domestic Goddess:

• An iRobot vacuum cleaner, so that rooms can be vacuumed in my absence, by default meaning that carpets and floors can be cleaned without small children and dogs getting in the way.

• a pretty apron that I won’t be embarrassed to answer the door in.
• an oven that doesn’t bring me to despair every time I try and cook anything; which doesn’t come with it’s own ‘Unsafe’ certificate

• A bath caddy for my newly finished bathroom.

(if I could also have a good book and the glass of champagne as pictured, so much the better)

• Good chocolate
• A good night’s sleep

• oh, and a dog walker.

I’ve made arrangements to have the dog sedated in advance of your arrival after the trouser-tugging incident last Christmas Eve, to ease your passage through our house. The key’s in it’s usual place: the gas fire has been condemned so probably best you don’t use the chimney this time. I will, of course, leave the usual mince pies, made just as you like them, on the plate warmer. The mulled wine recipe has been tweaked since last year so that one glass won’t send you over the legal limit. I was so relieved that the very nice Police Officer let you off with a warning when he heard the misreading-of-recipe story that resulted in an altogether too potent mix. We won’t make that mistake again, I can tell you. But I do hate to think of you braving the icy weather to deliver gifts to all: knowing I have left a little something to warm your cockles means I go to sleep without worry.

Besides, you’ll need your strength to carry the oven.

Have a safe journey. Until next time,

DG xxx