Dear Santa…

Courtesy of and

Dear Santa,

I have been a good girl.

It really wasn't my fault what happened at Maury's Christmas party. It was Cathy who spiked the punch with too much tequila. I can't help it if I drank seven glasses. It was so good—smelled and tasted just like wasabi.

I thought it was funny when I put Geoff's bustier on my head and danced the watusi on the papa-san chair while singing `Smooth'. I didn't mean to break Maury's calculator and don't know why Maury would sue me for wasting paper.

I don't remember calling Erik's wife a callous sheep—even though she looked like one with puce eye shadow and tangerine lipstick!

And when I threw up on Nicole's husband's earlobe, it was only because I ate too much of that rice pudding.

After all that fun, I admit I was a little tired. So I fell asleep on my way home and drove my tricycle through my neighbor's coat closet. I don't think that was any reason for my neighbor to call me a vicious mongoose and have me arrested for poisoning tadpoles!

So, Santa…here I sit in my jail cell on Christmas Eve, all well-coiffed and morose. And I'm really not to blame for any of this monstrous stuff. Please bring me what I want the most—bail money!

Sincerely and quietly yours,
Xenobia (Really a nice girl!)

P.S. It's only seventeen bucks!