At dinner, my six-year-old daughter ran into the kitchen and told us that she was late to the table because she was writing her letter to Santa Claus.
She sat down and explained.
“I wrote that I want chocolate, lots of it,” she told us.
“And I want a Monster High doll, a DS, a DS game, a cuddly teddy bear, a pair of flip flops, and a…” she said, rattling off what she’d put on her list.
She paused to take a breath.
Then she went on to explain that at the bottom of the letter she wrote: “And Santa, please don’t listen to anything my Mum says about me.”
Luckily my wife did too, at least I think she did.