My grownup Christmas list

Dear Santa,

As the festive season is upon us once more, I can’t help but think about the many years we’ve known each other and how you have betrayed me on each and every one.

Santa. Mr Claus. ‘Saint’ Nick. What happened to you? Growing up, I was led to believe that if I was good, and if I behaved myself, I could write you a letter at the end of the year and you would bring me some lovely things.

Well, I have one question for you, Santa. Where exactly is my monkey army?

Year after year I was the picture of the perfect child. I did well at school. I behaved myself. I didn’t swear, I didn’t answer back, I only bit my brother that one time. And yet, no monkey minions.

You’ve clearly dropped the ball. Christmas 1995 there was a Kmart price sticker on my Barbie. Kmart, Santa? I realise the world is far more populated than it used to be, and the elves are busy trying to make iPods instead of dolls and hula hoops, but what the hell, man? What. The. Hell.

I don’t mean to criticise. Well, I do, but only because I want to give you the chance to improve. It’s like you don’t even care anymore. The kids hold up their end of the bargain, what with the being good and all, so you should hold up your end and bring them their monkeys.

To get you started, here’s my wish list for this year:
-An attractive man wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a Santa hat.
-A unicorn. With a rainbow mane. And a glittery coat. I shall name him ‘Captain Clip-Clop’ and we shall be the best of friends.
-My freakin monkeys. Better late than never.