Dear Santa Claus,
Look fat man, you need to put down that mai tai you’re drinking while on vacation in Maui right now and read this letter carefully. I have a serious bone to pick with you and your so called jolly ways.
I have been a good girl this year. In fact, I have been better this year than most. My use of the word fuck has been at an all time low AND I managed to pull that shit off while living on a gluten free diet for X amount of months. Something you clearly don’t know anything about based on the size of your waistline.
In 2012, I have managed to be a good wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend. I have worked, made lunches, taxi’d children, volunteered time, laundered clothing, grocery shopped and drank a buttload of wine. All of this done in hopes of being a shining example of ‘The Nice List.”
Imagine my happiness this past Tuesday morning, December 25th, when my sweet daughter opened her gift from you and found the Snuggle Bear she so desperately hoped you’d bring her. The joy radiating from my eyes when my son excitedly unwrapped his brand new wetsuit you left under the tree for him. The love in my heart when The Surfer also unwrapped his own brand new wetsuit.
Now here it was. My turn to see how the jolly ol’ fat man rewarded my good behavior. I should have known something beside cheese was rotten in the state of Denmark when I noticed the gift was addressed to ‘Mommy and Moustaches.’ You know Moustaches. Our cat? The one WHO DOESN’T EVEN BELIEVE IN YOU AND DRANK THE MILK WE LEFT OUT FOR YOU?
Yeah, so as I cautiously unwrapped my gift, all of the good descriptive words slowly left my heart and were replaced with 4 letter expletives. Beneath the shiny, red wrapping paper was cat litter-box liners.
Oh Santa Claus, believe you me, I searched that box assuming my Ulta gift card was attached to it somewhere. But alas, you gave me liners to clean up my cat’s shit.
Consider this my declaration of war on you, Santa Claus. Payback’s a bitch, fat man.
THIS IS BULLSHIT,