"Looking hot Santa, looking hot"
Dear Father Christmas,
I’ve been a good girl this year, truly I have. Well, for the most part. I mean, sure I pointed and laughed at that old man who slipped and fell over in the street last month, but I didn’t stop passing traffic and encourage them to join in like I normally would and, well, he made one of those hilarious squawking noises as he went over and he landed in a dog egg so that was really a glowing example of restraint on my part.
I may not have willingly donated to charity this year and, yes, I have mocked and taunted the chuggers collecting money for the NSPCC in the High Street by telling them I support child labour, but I seriously think that tolerating some of my friends could easily be classed as charity work and in some cases, could actually qualify me for canonisation. You’ve seen the way that some of them dress, right?
I may have got so drunk my ears bled every weekend had a few tipples now and again but seriously St Nick, people in glass houses and all that. I think we both know why you’re always so “jolly”. Let’s say no more, eh?
Ok, so I’ve told a few lies this year but I think you and I can both agree that some lies are good, like when Mrs Claus tells you that she still finds you sexually attractive in that ridiculous red Coca Cola suit thing and not that you look like a bloated cranberry with a tramp’s facial topiary. Also, there was seriously no way I was going to own up to that fart in the office because, well, who wants to be known as the girl who can melt concrete with her botty-coughs? I think we can chalk that one up as an extreme circumstance, don’t you?
On the whole I am a wonderfully honest person and I think there are several people out there who have benefited greatly from my own special brand of truth. Certain people need to be told that their conversational skills leave me wanting to boil my own head in honey and wear a wasp’s nest as a hat, it’s really for their own good. Oh, and that girl at the cosmetics counter may have been in floods of tears back then but I bet you that by now she is actually grateful for my valuable make-up application tips. (Remind me to find out if having a face like a “prolapsed clown vagina” is actually a medical condition before I use it in conversation again.)
You can’t deny that I have applied myself whole heartedly to the conservation of the planet in 2011. I’ve managed not to have any children and I’ve done my best to eat and wear as many animals that would otherwise have ruined precious forests and plants. Oh, and I’ve skipped showering for days at a time more than once – that’s got to be a triple point score!
Anyway, like I said, I’ve been a very good girl this year and you know I never ask for much. I am in no way fussy and I’m always grateful, so I would like to humbly ask you for just one thing. This year, please, dear Santa Claus…
…keep the receipt.
Love always,
Pretty Feet Pop Toe
Pretty Feet, Pop Toe 
Father Christmas! You still call him Father Christmas. So do I. I thought I was the only one left. When I first lived in the UK M&S (in 1987 ) sold chocolate Father Christmases and in the department stores you went to visit Father Christmas. Now it is all Santa this and Santa that. When did it change? WHY did it change?
I think my mother would disown me if I went 100% Santa. I feel like I’m swearing every time I catch myself using the ‘S’ word.
Damn straight.
We don’t say Pere Noel or Babbo Natale, or even Lord Quinto (thanks Andorra, I might just be tempted there!).
We’re English, and it’s Father ruddy Christmas coming down our chimneys.
The holidays bring out strange sides of people, don’t you think? And I’m not talking about the office party, either.
Ronnie
Some people don’t even have the courtesy of waiting till Christmas!
Ahh yes! A scintillating shot across the bows of the GroupThink that browbeats us to extend goodwill to all men (and I suppose women) at this time of the year. Your restraint is admirable but I’d rather prefer you unfettered and let loose! Sod the Yuletide conventions and be yourself! Merry Christmas when it comes! xxx
I think if I showed any more restraint, I’d get PUT in restraints!
Thank you for your contribution to helping conserve our planet’s resources.
It’s hard work to be this amazing but I feel others look on in wonder at my heroic efforts and learn a little. Thanks for appreciating it.
AHahahah XD you sophisticated hippie ! …. It’ll be till I have food stuffed in my mouth before I stop laughing about this .
Well, make sure you don’t read this again with a mouthful and spray the room with sage and onion stuffing!
I’m enjoying the blog from the very start and I must say ,you seem to have stopped at a certain point on the path to wisdom :p ( 25 maybe ) . I love the consistency 😉 .
‘(Remind me to find out if having a face like a ”prolapsed clown vagina” is actually a medical condition before I use it in conversation again.)’
Wow… just, wow. I bow down to your ability to sling withering insults. 🙂
I think St. Nick will be OK with your behavior this year, but watch out for that Krampus character though. 😉
It’s taken years of hard work and dedication to get as skilled as I am at directing such well intended, subtle hints at strangers. I spread joy everywhere I go.
That Krampus can kiss my Krampass!
your getting nought you naughty person you . . .
I don’t know what you mean! I expect an abundantly bountiful stocking after all the hard work I’ve put in this year.
All through morning coffee I found myself trying to visualize a “prolapsed clown vagina” on a woman’s face, using Edvard Munch’s painting, “The Scream”
I’ll bet Munch was going through some kind of prolapsed clown vagina phase.
Munch would think twice about his artistic style if he saw the way modern day cosmetic counter girls try wearing every single product in one day. It’s really quite breath taking, and not necessarily for the right reasons. *insert clown nose squeezing ‘honk’ here*
Love the part about people with bad conversation skills. The one thing I can’t deal with are people who insist on having one-sided conversations with me while I repeatedly hint at needing to end our little chat. If you’re going to hold me as a conversation hostage, I beg of you, at least tie me up or threaten my life in some way so I can make sure you can legally be punished.