After my last post, where I lauded the superiority of Hanukkah over Christmas, my logic was challenged in a well-scripted comment. My friend pointed out all I’d miss by not being able to write Santa with my wish list. I’d also miss anticipating whether he’d fulfill all my not-so-secret desires on Christmas morning. I daresay she had a point. I’m still eating humble pie.
So I’ve decided, Jewish or not, to write my first letter to Santa here. Even Jewish people know Santa’s address, but I think I’ve missed Canada Post’s North Pole delivery date. If Santa is really omniscient, his actually receiving the letter won’t matter; he’ll know exactly what I want, letter or not. And I don’t think it should matter that I’m all grown up, in body at least. Adults have wishes too, don’t they?
Let me give this a try. This feels…unJewish.
We’ve never met before because I’m Jewish. You and Rudolph skipped my house when I was little, but I understand that mezuzah on the door post prompted you to pass over us.
This year, there are a few things I’d really like for Christmas. I’ve never asked before, and I likely won’t again, but my need feels pressing. I don’t want anything material because that will render more clutter for J. to ditch when I’m gone. Remember, I’ve spent the year trying to get rid of toys and books.
What I really want, more than anything these days, is to be well enough to work more. I’ve had a few clients this past while, and I’m not meaning to be greedy, but I really miss helping people. It’s in my blood, along with all those darn mutated cells. I don’t care about the money–I could donate it all if you like–but I wouldn’t mind lessening the financial pressure on J. if I could. She’s working her tail off of late.
Also, could you get my doctors to drop the no-travel advisories? We used to go to New York City every few years. I know a lot of people (with a lot of germs) live there, but if we go, I promise to let J. open all the germy doors, to wash my hands obsessively, and to run for cover when anyone coughs. While we’re at it, London was the bomb. Any chance we might get to Picadilly Circus once more? Perhaps a quick jaunt over to the Netherlands for some licorice while we’re there? I’m not asking you to pay for these trips–our vacation budget remains largely untouched of late–but could you cover the medical bills if I get sick? I know that even you couldn’t secure travel insurance for me, so I won’t even ask.
I’d promised nothing costly, but if you had an extra Sadness doll from Inside Out, my toy shelves are empty. Sadness dolls seem to be in short supply everywhere–must be a lot of depressed people out there–but I’m sure that “all-knowing” thing will help you find one.
Thanks for considering my requests. If you come through, maybe I’ll write again next year.
Regards to Mrs. Claus.