Wednesday, 7 December 2011
Dear Father Christmas....
Well, would you look at that! It's the 7th December already, and therefore not long until you squeeze into your best red and whites, give Rudolph a good old fashioned brushing, and fail to drink the glass of mulled wine, or even take a cheeky nibble on the mince pie that I've left out for you. Father Christmas, you naughty, ungrateful man!
As it's December, and everyone's beginning to feel ever so slightly festive (embarrassing snowman earrings-hello!), I believe it's traditional practice for me to write you this letter and tell you what I'd like to find under the tree on Christmas morning. I'd like to clarify at this point, that ideally my presents should be wrapped in some paper that features a winking reindeer, a wonky snowman knitting his own scarf, and a lovely little shot of yourself, tying up your boots, or sliding down a snowy rooftop on your Christmas sized bum.
I've always been a firm believer that the best parts of Christmas are seeing my Aunt's face when I've quite evidently bought her the wrong pair of earrings, eating my weight in turkey and cranberry sauce sandwiches, and finding that the six casual top ups I've had on my glass of wine have left me slurring like a walrus with a speech impediment come mid afternoon. However, despite the fact that I'd be incredibly satisfied with a Christmas day that consisted of these alone, I am of course partial to the odd present here and there.
Top of my list this year is a date with Ryan Reynolds. I was going to ask for him to be posing seductively on the floor in front of the tree, with a crimson red bow covering his man parts, however I completely understand that the man himself probably has his own plans on the 25th. I've therefore concluded that a tiny little dinner date (with champagne, violinists, red roses, and marinated salmon), is a reasonable compromise. If you could ink me into his schedule, preferably allocating a month or two for me to burn off the festive waistline, that would be much appreciated, you divine piece of Christmas hunk.
Additionally, I would be more than thrilled if I could be granted legal permission to stroll around naked once the British summer kicks in. While I'm happy to wear clothes in winter, a) to stop my limbs from freezing and falling off, and b) because I love winter fashion (knitted socks and boots combo, you have my heart forever), it seems like such a chore having to dress myself once that devilish sunshine starts peering through the clouds. Short summer dresses make me look like the size of a planet, maxi dresses make me look about 2ft tall, and my feet are so chubby/duck-like, that sandals only draw more unwanted attention to the tragedy that is me, from the ankles down. Human anatomy is a beautiful thing, and I think you'll agree that sweat patches the size of tiny saucers, and wobbly, fleshy lumps that tease the lining of said dresses, really are not.
Thirdly, and rather importantly, I'd like a small portion of liquid luck, pretty please. I believe it would be a great comfort on those days where I have to do something important (cough, go on a date with Ryan Reynolds), but am being held back by the unshakable feeling that I am going to balls it up. I usually do, by the way. While my lovely mother is more than happy to get me the 8 film Harry Potter DVD boxset, I'm not too sure how nifty she is at actually getting her hands on the real props/potions. Seeing as you're 'da maaaaan', Father Christmas, you might be able to pull some strings for me.
Should, for whatever wild, unbelievable reason, you be unable to sort any of the above out for me, I think it should be noted that I will lose all faith in you, and only leave you half a mince pie out next year. I will also drink the glass of mulled wine before you have so much as a chance to make your conscious decision to completely ignore it anyway.
I do however have a list of contingency gifts, so not all is lost:
A festive kiss from Joe the gorgeous electrician
A haircut that doesn't look like it cost me £2.50 (evidently, I need a new hairdresser)
The ability to wink, without looking like I've been poked in the eye by a clementine segment
Another slice of that homemade Victoria sponge
The opportunity to travel back in time for 24 hours to do some quality cheese aisle stalking
A less brutal menstrual cycle (sorry to be crude, but I am beginning to lose my patience with spending one week of every month dizzy, ill, and looking like an utter monster)
I will end this letter by reminding you that I have been a very good girl this year Father Christmas. I definitely didn't accidentally break the hand off of that mannequin in Miss Selfridge, I didn't borrow my mother's expensive hairspray and refrain from returning it, and I haven't told the slightest porky about my dress size to potential boyfriends either. Not once. Honest....
I wish you all the best of luck in your festive pursuits you handsome thing, and I look forward to seeing what you've left under the tree for me this year!
All my love and festive kisses,
Kathy B x