Socks, Underwear, and a Camaro

Requests, wishes, and dreams—all lost in the mail

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Dear Santa (or whoever),

Apparently, you did not get my letter this time last year. I understand how this can happen. Mail must be unpredictable up there, in the permafrost. It may be that a reindeer ate it. It could happen. We have a donkey down here in Alabama that ate the cuff off my sport coat. Really. But I digress.

I know you did not get my letter because I did not receive the Camaro (pearl white, convertible, V-8, with saddle tan interior) I hinted so strongly for you to bring me on Christmas morning. I am not bitter about it. I will just keep rattling around in the same old smoking, raggedy, 12-year-old Toyota, till it wheezes to a shuddering stop, probably in front of the scrapyard.