December 22, 2005
Letter to Santa
Jill Brooks, INtake columnist

Dear Santa,

I’ve been a very good girl this year, so I was wondering if you’d grant special consideration to this request.

I’ve tried to do my part for society: I always wear my seatbelt and signal my intentions; I’ve been kind to strangers; have supported local charities—hell, I even write grants for local charities.

Sorry I said ‘hell’ just then, Santa.

Anyway, my needs are fairly simple. Besides hoping for world peace and elegant, sexy shoes that don’t blister my toes, I was hoping maybe you could find me a new boyfriend.

Now I know my penchant has been for tall, dark and handsome attorneys and musicians (there’s a missing link in there I’ve been trying to figure out for years), but I’m willing to branch out this holiday season.

A blonde professor would work, or maybe a professional sports figure, to spice it up a bit. If not, I’ll settle for him being gainfully employed.

He has to like music, though, and I mean a lot of it. I can’t date anyone who doesn’t “get” the Tragically Hip, their confluence of grassroots rock-n-roll and complex poetry; he probably should know a little something about bluegrass too.

He should expect road trips to concerts, and needs to pay attention at them and not keep talking in my ear; I’m not there to converse, I’m there to rock. Tell him to plan on hanging around backstage after the show.

If he could be taller than me, so I can wear heels once in a while, that’d be great. And if he could please take me to places that require heels, I’d love it; I don’t think this is asking for too much, do you, Santa?

In theory, my heart would melt if he loved kittens and children, but cats make me sneeze and children sometimes do too. My goal is to spend my life traveling, so it’s OK if he doesn’t want cats or children; he just needs to get along with my family.

I don’t need him to send me flowers or scrape the snow off my car, but if he could swing by and pick up my dry cleaning I’d be thrilled.

Most importantly, Santa, I hope he makes me laugh like crazy. I can overlook a receding hairline or crooked teeth if he can do that.

Be careful on your trip, Santa, and I’ll be sure and leave you some store-bought cookies; if you swing by Europe first, bring me a man from there.

Thanks a lot.