I am writing to you early this year as I appreciate you have a lot of demands on your time and I don’t want my letter to be overlooked.
I have been a seriously good girl this year, if we ignore all the shouting and that one time I tapped BB’s little paw after she sunk her teeth into my thigh in Tesco’s I don’t think you will really be able to find fault with me.
I have played diligent mother by the hospital bed several times this year. I am not trying to sway your emotions here and get you to feel sorry for me but I thought you should know and you may want to take this into consideration when filling your sack.
I don’t want much, last year I asked for healthy kids and your elves managed one out of three, perhaps we could ask them to try and little harder this year; rolling their sleeves up and applying themselves is the only way you will ever get an Ofsted Outstanding. Plus not to scare you but the tooth fairy has been amazing this year, she has remembered every tooth, paid an appropriate sum and even shat glitter on the carpet; the elves may want to raise their game.
So my Christmas list.
I want a new table, a nice one, it doesn’t have to be expensive but if it came without ingrained dog wee on one of the legs then it would be a significant improvement on what I currently own. If it extended then fabulous because when we all sit down to eat together it sounds likes a herd of cows chewing grass and I would quite like to sit as far away from my family as possible for Christmas lunch.
I don’t really foresee any issues with my first desire, after all we all know elves are skilled carpenters.
Secondly, I want a size 10 waist. I appreciate you can’t magic one up for me but potentially we could consider a gastric band operation or even an all expenses paid year membership at a luxury gym complete with personal training (an taller than average elf would do). The gym needs a crèche though; it means feck all if I cant dump the children somewhere.
You may consider this one a big ask, but I remind you that I have spent the last three half terms on a hospital ward, I have breast fed a child in a spica class, I have taken leave from work to care for my elder daughter; I have sought solace in cake and wine; for the love of God get me slim Santa.
Then finally please may I have working bladder, I don’t care where you get one and how you get it inside me but times are getting desperate. Three children have taken their toll and the beating my bladder got when twin boy used it as a football in uterus is more evident than ever before. I need to pee four times a night, I don’t sleep that much at the best of times having to take a break from sleeping is downright torturous for any parent. Laughing uproariously is becoming an issue, if I watch Jimmy Carr too long I need to sit on a sheet. Plus that nasty cough I had last week really highlighted that my pelvic floor is shot to death.
That is it really Santa, I will send the kids letters on in the usual fiery fashion, however if you agree to Twin Boy’s request for a Hamster and Twin Girl’s request for a Rabbit you had better get your arse over here weekly to clean the rodents out. If you need to find a reason to refuse their requests just give me a bell and I can give a choice of naughty scenarios to choose from.
In conclusion, give my best to Mrs Claus, tell her to keep up the diet, regards to the elves (and crack on chaps) and let Rudolph know I will be leaving him out a carrot which looks rather like a willy just to break up his night with a bit of a giggle.
All my love, Merry Christmas,
P.S – I would also like a cat – a real one