Thursday, December 17, 2015

Dear Santa ~ Part Two



Hi Santa!

It's been two years since I last wrote to you. You're a magical creature of infinite memory and a perfect sense of direction, so I know you'll recall the letter I sent. I asked you to  deliver a guy gift-wrapped with a strategically placed bow help me find a boyfriend since I wasn't managing to bag 'n tag one on my own. Judging by the distinct lack of non-fictional male companionship in my life, I'm going to hazard a guess that you and the elves couldn't pull off my wish at the time.

You couldn't be responsible for the fellows who crossed my path since that letter. At least, I hope you weren't because if that was you, then you sent me the human equivalent of a cheap Taiwanese knockoff. You know what I mean. A "Transmorpher" instead of a "Transformer." "Lejo" instead of "Lego." A soulless shell of a human being that appeared normal until I took a closer look and discovered a few deal-breaking flaws. There was the guy who insisted we only meet when and where he chose, and always set up at the last minute. When trying to arrange a simple coffee date turns into an episode of Mission Impossible, I start questioning what he's trying to hide. Is he a spy? Married? Convinced that aliens are watching him at all times? None of these are what I'm looking for in a relationship. 

I'm hoping the trifecta of exes that attempted to "reconnect" lately weren't your doing, either. There was a reason we broke up the first time around. Sending me ex-boyfriends (especially freshly divorced ones) is a lot like regifting me a fruitcake with a couple of bites missing from the corners. I understand the concept of recycling, but I'm really not ready to apply that to my dating life. There's no way that's going to end well for anyone.

I'll wrap this up now, I know you're a very busy elf at this time of year. If your mandate has changed and you're in the boyfriend delivery business these days, please put me down for one (or two) of whatever model you think would suit me best and put him under the tree. I promise to take good care of him. If you or your associates are the ones who have been sending me the dubious assortment of potential candidates, then I can only assume that it's because I'm on your naughty list and this is the single adult female's version of being left a lump of coal. 

I'm counting on you, Santa. Come through for me this year and I'll be sure to bury you in cookies and treats for the reindeer next year. 






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