Dear Santa,
As we gaze beneath our 10-foot Norwegian pine at the new ostrich cowboy boots, mountain bike, iPod, and case of Napa Valley red, you must realize what a blue funk this Christmas left us in.
In our last correspondence with you (sent priority mail back in October), we requested one simple gift: a bailout. That seemed like an easy “ask” for a dude with your vast resources (i.e., elves). It wasn’t as if we were begging for cash.
All we wanted for Christmas was a miracle or two. Instead, you unloaded a bag o’ goods at our place. Less particular boys and girls might be OK with junk like that, but we were bummed. You failed, pal.
It’s a new year now and we hate to dwell on the past. But since we are still dealing with last year’s “issues” (which a bailout from you would’ve handled nicely), it’s our duty to refresh your questionable memory.
First, let us remind you that we were a pretty darned good boy last year. We made some errors in judgment, true. Nobody’s perfect. If we embarrassed our loved ones during Thanksgiving supper, was it our fault we ate and drank too much? (Don’t answer that.)
So . . . our thought was that a miracle bailout was in order. You know, a little cosmic gift from Santa Claus to make everybody forget our indulgences over turkey and brewskis.
How you were going to pull off this feat was your problem. You’ve got elves making union wages. Let them figure it out.
While they brainstormed, there was another issue you could have attended to: how to avoid our impending spiritual bankruptcy. Truly, a special bailout from you would have gotten us right with the Lord (and the IRS).
Also, how about a bailout to convince our skeptical wife that we are nearly as handsome, smart and thoughtful as the day she married us 32 years ago? (This would have take some real doing, we have to admit.)
You could’ve at least put in a good word for us — but no. (And cowboy boots don’t cut the mustard.)
All things considered, we’d tried to be good but had to settle for less. If there were missteps along the way (tax return issues, road rage incidents, a forgotten anniversary), we’d be the first to remind you that we’re only human.
Not to beat a dead reindeer (which would never occur to us), but the record would show that during most of 2008, we were as good a boy as you could expect from a 57-year-old guy whose life has had its share of speed bumps.
It’s not like we were asking for diamonds. Diamonds are forever. Bailouts are for good old boys. (So we thought, Jelly Gut.)
Where do we go from here? You rest on your Barcalounger at the North Pole and eat reindeer sausage. Us? We got to deal with negative vibes that we may have — through no fault of our own — inadvertently caused our friends, family, colleagues, perfect strangers and even God.
You could say our trouble was of our own doing. Maybe we should’ve been a standup guy and planned better. Maybe we should’ve curbed our appetite and been more touchy-feely to the needs of others. Like we said, why dwell on the past?
We expect you to do a better job next Christmas. Not a bailout. We want something so radical that it makes grown men weep: a Hummer. With gas prices down, it’s our last chance to run with the big dogs. We’re counting on you, Old Man. So’s Detroit.
Happy New Year to you and the missus!
Eric Sandstrom (esandstr@ ) teaches at Mesa State College in the mass communication program.
