All I want for Christmas is everything on the first page of Home Hardware’s Christmas flyer.
In truth, Dearest Duck caught me paging through said flyer touching various mysterious tools — a variable speed reverse corded hammer drill — whatever that is — for example. As youngsters once drooled over the pages of Sears’ now-defunct Christmas Wish Book, I sighed at every page.
“Harry, my honey,” said Dearest Duck, “see anything you want for Christmas?”
“Just dreaming of tools and toys, my Duck.”
“Maybe it’s time to grow up and get something practical for Christmas,” said Dearest Duck.
Practical? For Christmas? Perish the thought!
“Practical, my Duck?”
“Yes,” said Dearest Duck. “You know the car needs new winter tires.”
Up at the North Pole, I’m sure Santa Claus and all the elves froze solid alongside the toy assembly line at Dearest Duck’s horrifying suggestion. Mrs. Claus prob’ly burned a batch of gingerbread men to cinders.
“Tires, my Duck?”
“Harry, think about Christmases past. How often has Santa Claus brought you the top thing on your list?”
“Seldom, my Duck,” said I.
What I didn’t say is that I know why Santa seldom stogged my stocking with my top 10 wishes.
Santa didn’t do so because he didn’t get my unedited letters.
He didn’t get my letters because Dearest Duck intercepted them and altered my lists. She must’ve.
Last Christmas, for instance, I asked Santa for an Apple MacBook Pro. Although Best Buy tagged it over $3,000, cost ought not to have deterred Santa. He’s magic, sure.
Dearest Duck — thinking my bottom-of-the-line HP desktop with Windows Millennium pre-installed was good enough for pecking scribbles, I s’pose — definitely revised my Santa Claus list.
Santa didn’t bring me a MacBook.
Oh, he brought me a book. One Dearest Duck suggested, no doubt — a paperback copy of “Mac the Murderer,” for frig sake.
“See?” said Dearest Duck when my face told her I’d recognized the reality of Christmases gone by.
Wisely, I said nothing about my amended letters to Santa.
So, whether I want tools or toys this year, there’s no point in penning a Santa Claus list.
Prob’ly just as well, I haven’t made up my mind yet.
Before the Home Hardware flyer arrived, I’d considered asking Santa for one of those drone flying machines. Because I’ve made disparaging remarks about those gadgets, I figured Santa would think me hypocritical and check his list twice before gift-wrapping one for me.
Anyway, I don’t know what use I’d make of a drone. I’m not a moose hunter, so I wouldn’t need to fly one above the tree tops in search of “me” moose. And I imagine using a drone for hunting is illegal.
I could use a drone to check for damaged shingles after a wind storm, I s’pose. But that wouldn’t be as practical in Dearest Duck’s eyes as me climbing a ladder, eh b’ys?
Well then, no reverse corded drill or hovering drone for me. And there’s no point in placing a MacBook at the top of my list. Dearest Duck would surely hijack the list and change it. I don’t want Book 2 in the “Mac the Murderer” series, anyway. The first one wasn’t entertaining.
Not that anyone cares, but I’m often disappointed at Christmas. Not only with the contents of my Santa package but also with Christmas dinner fare.
Colour me as crooked as Scrooge, but I don’t like turkey.
“Harry, you never have complained,” says Dearest Duck.
“Complain? Me, my Duck?”
(I’m not that stund, eh b’ys? I know who bakes the chocolate-chip cookies.)
I can say this, now that Dearest Duck has left me alone with my antiquated Dell. Just once, I wish Dearest Duck would roast a different fowl to compliment the figgy duff for Christmas dinner.
If not turkey, what?
Since I’m Scrooge-coloured anyway, like Scrooge at Bob Cratchit’s Christmas dinner, I’d hoist a glass if roast goose were the table’s centerpiece.
“Made up your mind?” says Dearest Duck who — God love ‘er — has returned with chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven.
Sensibly, through a mouthful of cookie, I say, “All I want for Christmas, my Duck, is a plate of your fine cooking.”
And, OK Santa, winter tires.
Thank you for reading.
Season's gree… ah, frig it, Merry Christmas!
— Harold Walters lives Happily Ever After in Dunville, in the only Canadian province with its own time zone. How cool is that? Reach him at email@example.com.