I’m going to hell.
But not before I finish this post.
Or this Avon catalog.
So you’re a kid. You want amazing things for Christmas. And when you want amazing things for Christmas, you write to Santa.
The Santa of the Avon Catalog decides you deserve to have amazing things for Christmas. So he gives you what you want.
Then you get photographed while showing your apparent excitement over what you asked for…except it’s not exactly what you asked for.
But before that all happens…Dear Santa:
Um, BRING you a dream house? Bring? BRING?!
I want money, fame, fortune, and a lucrative writing career. Can’t have everything we want, kid. But by all means, be a hero with this firehouse!
…but if Disneyland is too expensive, I’ll settle for giant plushes. It’s kinda sorta the same thing.
Only kinda sorta.
…complete with Christmas tree that looks like a dying branch, all the other kids hating on you, and man’s best friend going commercialized.
That’s my kind of Christmas!
Perhaps my “Dear Santa…” should involve begging for forgiveness and hoping my soul doesn’t get snatched in the middle of the night. I do live in New Jersey and close to the woods, the Jersey Devil could be lurking anywhere!