Here it is, February, and I'm still waiting for addled Claus to remember to FedEx the presents he failed to bestow my way on a certain recent holiday morn.
I tell you. I'm getting too old to traipse all over this country, visiting strange cities, just to lounge repeatedly in the jolly ol' soul's presence in order to relay my well-researched, impeccably typed, creatively alphabetized, and fruitcake-scented wish lists -- and then he doesn't deliver.
A dozen shopping mall Toylands and Cinnabons on Black Friday alone.
All I got was lap lag.
And a Peoria elfin hat to accessorize my magical quality or charm.
I had requested and coveted some attitude bracelets, the sports type that read, "YAY, TEAM!" or "GO FOR IT!" or "EAT THEIR YOUNG!"
I'm thinking, this year, I'll go buy bracelets more practical, like "SANTA, YOU SCROOGE, DON'T FORGET THE KID IN GEORGIA!" or "'T.P.' THE REINDEER ANTLERS!" or "NICK, NICE OUTFIT (SINCE THE 19TH CENTURY)!" or "I'M DOWN HERE! MIKE MARKS THE SPOT, YOU MISERABLE MIRTHFUL TWIT!"
And may I be the first to extend to you, dear reader, and yours, and up to five of theirs, heartfelt tidings for the happiest of holiday seasons.