I’ve got a bone to pick with you. On Christmas morning, I didn’t find a drop-dead gorgeous cowboy with a sinful smile lounging on my sofa or a Lexus (new or used) in my driveway. In fact, I didn’t find anything except a few bird droppings.
I don’t know if you got my name on the naughty list by mistake, but I can assure you that I’ve been a perfect angel. Really, really perfect. Ask around. Everyone I’ve murdered was only made up people, even though I modeled them precisely after live ones right down to their beady little eyes. And I only shot the ones who needed it. I can’t help it if there were a lot. I’m sure you understand that, you being the kindly old gentleman you are.
(I just wish you’d give up smoking that horrible pipe though. It’s not good for your health. And it’s not a good example to set for the children. Mrs. Claus should’ve taken you in hand long ago. I’ll bet you’re a stubborn old coot though.)
Now, I know you want to correct this oversight so I’m giving you another chance.
I’d still make room for that handsome cowboy anytime you can swing it. And you can definitely wiggle back into my good graces by delivering a diamond ring (30 karats would be nice. I don’t want to be too greedy.) and pad my bank account. A few million should cover it and I would be sooooo appreciative. Writers have to spend a lot on promotion you know.
But, if those are not an option…..can you just give me a few more hours in the day this next year? I have books out in February, May, August, October, and November and I can use all the time I can get.
Plus, I have deadlines to meet for new ones. Yikes!
Thank you, Santa, for all you do! I really mean that. You’re a saint!
Sincerely and with much love,