All I Want For Christmas…

The boy made his Christmas list months ago.  It consisted of Lego, Lego and more Lego.  I asked him if there was anything he wanted that wasn’t Lego.  There was.  But he didn’t know what.  I asked the husband.  He wants Xbox games (surprise surprise): COD Modern Warfare 2, Halo 3: ODST and DJ Hero.

I’ve been a little more difficult to please.  You see, there’s not a lot I actually want.  Well, not a lot that could be classed as a realistic gift anyways.  There’s books on my wishlist, but I hate the cost of them.  I prefer to try and swap first and then I never feel quite so guilty.  It’s rare that I find a book that I’ll bother to read twice so I find it difficult to justify the expense of buying.  As an alternative, I asked mum just to buy me amazon vouchers so I could get the ones I’m having difficulty finding.

But in the event that one of my lurkers happens to be a millionaire who wants to shower me with gifts, I thought I’d let you have my list.  I’ve made it, I’ve checked it twice, and I promise I’ve been good all year round.  Honest.

Oh black knitted cardi Uggs! How I lust after thee.  A size 8 would fit perfectly on my feet and keep them warm and (I hope!) dry.  Much better than the fakes that came from the local supermarket and had to have the soles superglued back to the uppers within three days of use or the slouch black boots that’ve worn through the soles one too many times.  Alas, I cannot justify your cost, and at over £100 who can blame me.  Not when there’s a baby on the way.

A Russian wedding band. Size R. Yes I know, I have mamothly large fingers. Blame the mother for this one (the ring, not the fingers). She’s got one in her jewellery box. She knows I’ve got my eye on it, she’s known it for years. She never wears it, yet still it’s not made its way into my hands (or onto my finger). But I tell you, when she finally kicks it (and knowing the mother, that won’t be for a very, very long time) it will be mine. Until then I’ll just have to settle for my own.

Knives. But don’t worry, I’m not about to do anything stupid. On our first Christmas back in the UK everyone bought us bits for the new home we would soon have. It was a Christmas of small kitchen appliances and utensils. We got a lovely set of knives from Ikea that, bread knife aside, are pretty much useless. Sure, they cut, but their serrated edges make cooking like trying to saw through the hide of a cow. I need would love a set of knives that work, that are sharp, that are capable of being sharpened (although I’d have to ask the father to do so – it’s his favourite household task).  Anything to make my kitchen life easier.

 Of course that’s just the small money stuff.

I’d like a decent phone signal in my house.  For some reason our road seems to be a signal black spot and our roof painted in lead or some other signal-blocking substance.  We wander round with our phones held high in the air hoping just to gain that one bar needed to send a text.  On the off chance that the phone rings we’re stuck with speakerphone in the hope that we don’t lose that all too precious signal.  For once I’d like to pick up my phone without having to worry about whether I’m in the back of the furthest, highest point in the house and whether or not it’s raining outside.

And while we’re on the subject of houses, how about we fix that signal problem by just buying me a new house.  I’m perfectly happy with the area (even if we are rather close to the Merton ghetto) but another bedroom would be useful, and a bigger kitchen, second bathroom and maybe a small office to hide the husband away in.  I’m sure it’s not too much to ask.

I’d like a boob job, although I’m not sure you could get one of those in Santa’s office.  I don’t want them completely taken away, maybe just two thirds of each one.  A C cup would be nice, maybe a D, perhaps a little lifting whilst the work’s being done.  And whilst Mr Surgeon is still on the payroll and while I’m still under general you could also get him to do a little hoovering and maintenance.  There’s the beginning’s of a double chin and some wings that would be right at home in the local bingo hall.  How about fixing the stomach at the same time?  I’m sure that’ll need some work once Lumpy’s out and happy.  Whilst you’re sorting out the payment you could also sign me up for regular six-monthly maintenance, so I don’t have to give up chocolate and ice cream just yet. 

Then there’s the small matter of transport.  Whilst we love our ageing 15 year old RAV-4 it won’t last forever.  Can’t you hear that noise it makes every time you turn.  Of course a replacement leaves us with a problem.  The husband would like a van (of the incredibly large variety), the boy would like a pick-up and I would like something that can preferably park itself.  The only thing we can agree on is that any vehicle can’t be something small.  Perhaps if you could combine the three (actually, don’t worry about the van, I reallydon’t want one anyway) and find us something stylish, spacious and eco-friendly we could all be happy.

See, I don’t ask for much.  And if you’re not too busy while you’re at it, world peace and a perfectly behaved baby who sleeps through the night from day one wouldn’t go amiss.