Dear Santa,

I would like a jar of pickled Calabrian chiles. I was told they are a chef’s secret weapon but I cannot find them in this place, weaponized though it is.

Also, I would like an advent calendar of lipsticks, a telegraph machine and respondent, moon boots made with fair-trade moon. I would like one hour to speak privately with the muppet Grover about some things that have been troubling me. I would like an add-a-bead necklace where the beads are Get Out of Jail Free cards. The cards are sold separately and I would like a starter set of five. Two starter sets of five. I would like a weathervane in my heart that I can make visible to others on a need-to-know basis.

I would like a car made of transparent green glass. I would like lessons in self-suturing. A miniature peacock, a blue tree, a sonic map of my bedroom, a certain ineffable glamour. I would like a phone call from Leonard Cohen, no reason, just to say hey. It can be a short call.

I can pay you for these things. I have money. I can front you the money.

I would like the GPS lady to use the sense God gave her when I say “Stop guidance.” If she knows I still need guidance I would like her to show some backbone and ignore my instructions. After all, what reason have I given her to trust me when I say I’m no longer lost? What reason have I given anyone to take my word on this? You or anyone else?

Yes, it’s as I thought. Thank you for your candor. I hope to return this gift.