|Sheridan on Santa's lap 1987|
I have been very good this year as I am sure you know. I have not gotten a speeding ticket, or a parking ticket, nor have I had a winning lottery ticket, but that’s beside the point. I pick up my clothes (generally) and do the dishes (from time to time). I don’t take out the garbage, rake leaves or mow the lawn, of course, as that is men’s work. My language, while occasionally salty, is still rated PG for the most part. I haven’t coveted my neighbor’s oxen. No wait, that’s the Ten Commandments. But you get the idea.
I don’t wait in line to sit in your lap because that would be super creepy, but I still have a few requests for Christmas morning.
I would really love your sleigh to arrive at my door, to cart away everything that does not bring me joy. That would include my leather pants from 2004 (what WAS I thinking?), my collection of mismatched socks, and my winter jacket from a time when I was small enough for it to actually zip up (see 2004). I would love Rudolph to take a huge passel of books back to the North Pole, because, honestly, the odds of my re-reading The Thorn Birds are slim to none. I am ready to relinquish my juicer, my ice cream maker and three of my springform pans (I have been anticipating the call for a trio of cheesecakes, in vain). Do your reindeer operate in reverse, dear Santa? Because I have a dumpster full of unwanted stuff, and I’d much rather empty out than fill up at this point in my life.
What else does not bring me joy? Junk mail! Why, in the age of the internet, do people keep sending me flyers for their pizzerias and their car washes? In the spirit of KonMari, it’s all going straight to recycling anyway, so spirit it all away, Santa! Speaking of the world wide web, I’ve about had it with spam that eludes the folder. If “Brittany” wants to meet me for a good time, she can help me load up your sleigh.
As my home is decluttered and becomes pristine, I expect to attain an exhilaration I never knew when I was knee-deep in Lego blocks and Barbies. I’d tell you to deliver this bounty to other houses, but honestly? I’d be happier knowing that other people are living in vast, vacant spaces like me. Empty closets, empty shelves. No need for storage bins. Bliss!
But Santa, don’t expect me to part with the 350 drawings of a sunset by 3 year old Sheridan. Not gonna happen. Or Rose’s baby teeth. So if I’m keeping those, I may as well ask for a flat-screen TV. And, while you’re at it, a screened porch.
Thanks, big guy. You’re the best.