Sunday, 27 November 2011

letters to santa

yesterday, i wrote my first love letter. it was passionate, and obfuscate, and awkward, and puzzling, even to me. when i wanted to mail it, the cashier and post office attendant was being quite the nuisance, though. she insisted that i use some fancy air mail stamp because 'this stamp has the "mail" word on it'. i thought to myself, 'really?' the letters that i had come with, that i normally carry in my wallet were some ruddy old teddybear stamps, though i imagine that can hardly be dismissed as legitimate postage stamps. as for the ones she offered, i have no idea why they would be superior in any way. forgive me, for i do not understand the complexities of sending a letter, something that i used to do every weekend but do no longer because, who really uses snail mail. however, the last time i did, it was fairly straightforward - just use the correct amount of postage paid (and in this case i used $1.80 in stead of the required $1.65).

interestingly enough, counting my shillings as i stood in front of her, only to realise that i had not enough, i offered to pay using card (i actually had some notes in my wallet, but really, i don't like carrying around coins). she quickly said, no, that's fine, just use my stamps anyway. contradiction, much? in any case, if my letter arrives, i curse you for being a pain; and if it doesn't arrive, i curse you for being so dismissive. since when did post-office attendants become little napoleons. oh, i should note the demeanour in which she handled the conversation was... lacklustre.

having gone through that, which i don't really mind, except for the fact that now i worry whether my letter will arrive or not (love letters are serious business), i was now ready to finally pop my letter in the mailbox. it's quite cute that there was a dedicated mailbox outside (madeshift from a red cardboard box) just adjacent to the permanent mailbox upon which is written in capitals, 'LETTERS TO SANTA'. i am not sure where these letters end up, but, i write now another love letter, in hopes that santa is actually a sexy, blonde and blue-eyed woman from scandanavia who lives just north enough of the arctic circle to warrant the name 'santa', but at the extrme-most south to warrant living where it's not dark all winter long (though i now concede that this may be geographically impossible). one never knows, that should (s)he reply, i may want to move in, and the aurora borealis will never look prettier.

lovingly for santa,


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