I am churning out Santa letters every day. I write; I fold; I enclose each letter in an envelope; I lick them shut; I write your address ("Santa CLos, Nrth Pul"); and I ask my mom for stamps. My mom takes my letters.
Today she took one to school because the scanner part of our printer doesn't work. She asked one of the secretaries to help and now she has a .pdf version of my Santa Letter and she can't figure out how to upload it to her blog. Maybe you will see it tomorrow. Maybe she will take a picture of it instead. Maybe she will mail it to the Nrth Pul.
I am writing letters to you for my sister, too, who is outsourcing all her Santa contacts. She is afraid of you: always has been; still is. When my mom and dad ask her about telling you what she wants for Christmas, she blurts out, "You can tell him." She does not want to go anywhere near Santa. Sorry.
But I have no fear of you. I love Santa, as I have loved all Disney characters and even stuffed Sea World creatures of unknown genus and species that we encounter at that theme park. I have been known to stand in line patiently and quietly for hours to talk with you, particularly at Disneyland when I was two, even when my mom and dad wanted to get out of line and go get a beer, already. Disneyland doesn't have beers. Which is why we go to California Adventure now instead.
Santa, my letters will tell you everything, including what my mom and dad want for Christmas. My mom wants a "noo cooompueud" (Ed.: "new computer"? Not...) and my dad wants a "noo foon" (Ed.: "new phone." Also, NOT.). My parents have been saying lots of things about you might not come, and you are watching, and you know if I am naughty or nice. Well, I am good. I am a good girl, and they should be glad I am not doing drugs or smoking or sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night.
Because you are watching you know that I am not doing those things. Only once in a while I am bossy to my sister and sometimes I yell too loud and I even don't cooperate. Otherwise, I am perfect.
My mom needs a new computer because she does not know how to post my Santa Letter. Help her out, Santa. Besides her being bossy and yelling too loud sometimes herself, she's pretty perfect, too.