For the longest time, the secret of Santa’s identity was a mystery. My brother thought he’d figured it out one year when we were small. After Santa visited our house, my brother raced to the phone to dial our neighbor’s house, convinced that Mr. Calabrese was actually Santa. Imagine his wide eyes when Mr. Calabrese answered the phone.
Eventually, we figured out that our parents were “allegedly” Santa. I say “allegedly” because these days I’m really hoping it’s not true. I’m really hoping there is a Santa out there who will bring me presents–well, one in particular. I even wrote him a note last year. And I plan to send it again in January because I’m sure it must’ve gotten lost in his spam folder.
Dear Santa,
I’m writing to you because I really need a Christmas miracle. Now, I know most people wrote their letters to you months ago or even sent you a last minute note before midnight last night, but I think that’s because they were hoping for something under the tree. I don’t need my gift under the tree. (Also, I don’t think it would be appropriate.) Also, I know November and December are probably pretty busy for you, what with getting all the toys and gifts together for your big December 25th run. So I wanted to make sure my wish didn’t get lost in the shuffle. Also, I wanted to give you plenty of time to really work on this one. I figure you probably have a lot of down time in January and February. Most people probably don’t even think of writing to you until at least April. So I thought maybe you could work on my Christmas miracle during this slow season.
So, Santa, what I really want for my Christmas miracle is Ward. Lately, I see him each year at the rival basketball game at our former high school. And last that I knew, Ward is single! Now, just this information alone is sort of a gift. You see, if Hot Ward is still single, I don’t feel so badly about also being single. I feel like less of a loser knowing that I am in the company of Ward. But please, that’s just not enough of a gift.
You must remember way back when I was a sophomore in high school and we girls used to giggle our way through all of those Ward cheers. And you certainly must recall how we used to swoon over him as he walked through the quad. Well, I’m here to tell you, Santa, that he is still the same swoonable guy. And doesn’t it seem like destiny that we are both still single and we show up to that rival high school basketball game each year? He talked to me, too. I don’t think he’d ever said my name in all those years of my stalking–er, admiring. But last Tuesday night, he said it. He spoke to me! We were laughing at how the current cheerleaders don’t even cheer, and he turned in my direction, said my name, and made a comment to me! What was it? I have no idea. I think I had a minor stroke. But that totally has to mean something, right, that he said my name? And wouldn’t that be a love story for the ages: the sophomore’s dream finally comes true? So much better than the story about how I settled for some halfway decent loser I met on the internet because I’d lost all hope in finding true love. I really need this, Santa.
I think I’ve been pretty good this past year. I do, though, want to apologize for using your name in a slanderous way after I was hand-molested by that internet-date guy. I did refer to him as a “rat-faced Santa.” And that was just wrong. You are way hotter than that guy. And I never should have used your name in that manner. I am ashamed and deeply sorry for that. But other than that misstep, I’ve been pretty good. I’ve made a few people laugh, and I even forgave Billy Riggins for allowing his brother, Tim, to take the blame for his illegal dealings. But more important than how I’ve been is how I plan to be. This next year, I will be good. (At least that is my plan, although the end of Friday Night Lights is bound to cause me some sort of rage against the world and the demise of television brought on by reality tv. But I’ll keep that to a minimum.) It’s easy to recount all the good deeds, but how many people write to you and tell you of all the good they plan to bring to the world? Well, I have both to offer you: my past good deeds and my future good intent. That ought to count for something.
So, Santa, I’m writing tonight to ask you to please work on this Christmas miracle for me. I really need this. I’ve been training to be Ward’s girlfriend ever since high school. In fact, every relationship I’ve been in (although I can’t really recall any of them because they were so long ago), has been preparation for this very moment. This is my Olympics of dating. It’s my gold medal run. It’s my one shining moment. Please, please, Santa, please let me shine. Make a sophomore’s dream come true. And bring me a date with Ward.
Sincerely,
Me
