Dear Mr. Claus,
I am writing this letter preemptively, as The Girl has been busy issuing her own letter and Christmas list, which she will undoubtedly be zipping off to you shortly. I’m sure that many of the items on said list will be, in her mind, for my benefit. But I thought I’d take this opportunity to reach out on my own behalf to clear up a few, teensy misconceptions that The Girl—and by extension, you (through no fault of your own)—might have.
For one thing—and I’ll just come right out and say it—I have no desire for a new, fancy tan-and-black-plaid sheet.
I’m sure in the North Pole you are more familiar with wool, goose down, and crushed velvet suits trimmed in ermine, but please believe me when I tell you, there is nothing worse than an attractive but impractical mid-weight acrylic blanket. Where are the leg straps? Why so much starch?
Do you know what is the only thing itchier than a fancy tan-and-black-plaid sheet? A fancy tan-and-black-plaid sheet covered in pine shavings, which is the sad and unfortunate condition I find myself in every morning I wake up in the blasted thing. The only way to remove them is a good stiff brush and some elbow grease, and let me tell you, The Girl falls woefully short in that department. So please, if you will, cross that one off the list, kind sir.
I’d also like to bring to your attention the matter of earplugs.
Why oh why must she request another pair of those detested apparatus in her stocking, year after year? If ever there was a more futile exercise…popping them in and out before and after every ride. I’ll tell you the honest truth—I often shake them out within the first four minutes, and while she won’t admit it, The Girl has never once noticed until we are back in the barn. Not once!
Still, she persists. Does she not realize that even with them in, those cursed, hideous contraptions, I can STILL HEAR EVERYTHING. If the snow falls off the roof and it is on my mind to dump her, I will dump her, and no amount ear floozies will prevent it.
Finally, there is the question of The Girl’s musical tastes. I believe she has it in mind to request a new radio for the barn.
Please DISREGARD this request. Or, at the very least—and I’m sure your very capable elves can assist me—please remove stations 104.7, 105.1, and worst of all, 106.2. Where on earth and for all time is it written that horses must listen to country music?
I cannot think of a single day in my short life that I’ve ever asked to hear about wheeling around in pick-up trucks, shooting off shotguns, or plunging headlong into a muddy swimming hole. Frankly, the idea of any and all of these things terrifies me.
They never listened to music like that in the Old Country. Oh no. In Holland we drifted off to sleep listening to the dulcet tones of Mozart and Wagner and Brahms. Brahms!
Please, Mr. Claus, if you must give her a radio, give her a special radio with very selective tuning. And while you’re at it, if there happens to be a Mariachi station (please God no), I besiege you to fix that too.
Thank you in advance for your kind attention to these humble requests.
I wish you, Mrs. Claus, the elves, and all of your reindeer (may they stay miles away from me forever) a very happy and productive holiday season.
Respectfully yours,
Jiminy Cricket, KWPN
(a.k.a. “Jimmie”)
P.S. On second thought, if The Girl happens to request Mrs. Pastures, Nibbles, or Withers & Withers Sweet treats on her list, please feel free to indulge her.