Dear Santa.. a lonely little girl’s Christmas wish

Dear Santa,

I havent written to you for a long time, I think the last time was when I was around 10.  Mr Frosty was the object of my Christmas desire that year, every TV advert seemed to show his cheeky white face, he was my Dream Guy.  I wrote a note, put it in the glitter-covered match-box that was hanging from our tree and went to bed.  I hid under the covers, heart thumping as I heard you come in my room and place a heavy, crackling stocking on the end of my bed.

Although I was spoilt rotten, Mr Frosty didnt come 😦 

Santa, I have been a REALLY good girl this year, much to my disappointment.. ; )  Every year my kids ask me what I want for Christmas and, martyr-like, I ask for just one thing. . a happy day. A day free of grumbles, tears, pain and strife.  This year I say, fuck it..! I really, really want Mr Frosty!  My Dream Guy has changed a lot since I was little though, now he is flesh and blood.. he walks and talks, lives and breathes and when he smiles at me, he takes my breath away… 

Maybe I am too fussy, I have met some really lovely fellas this year but something always whispers “not this one, wait a little longer”.. and so I wait, ever hopeful and dream that, as Snow White sang “one day my prince will come”.. Well, I’ve dressed as Snow White ( and all the dwarfs *cough* ) so, if I havent completly terrified him….

This Friday night I shall make mince pies with my kids, watch a film or two and wait until they finally fall asleep before I pinch the pie and Tia Maria we left for you earlier (yes, I still make them leave a tray for you Santa!), relax and dream a little before bed. 

I’ll lay awake, my head under the covers – ears pricked up to hear your tinkly bells, your tread on the stairs.  As sleep takes me slowly away, I will gently move my feet, hoping not to hear a rustling stocking but to feel the warmth of a human foot and then stretch my hand out across the bed to finally embrace my Mr Frosty..

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