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(RACHEL IDZERDA FOR THE GLOBE AND MAIL)
(RACHEL IDZERDA FOR THE GLOBE AND MAIL)

Christmas is for kids, they say. And my inner child is screaming for stuff Add to ...

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Dear Santa,

It’s been a long time since my last letter. I’ve been busy. Grew up, got educated and then married. Started a small business and have been a slave to it for the last 10 years. Hoping life in the Far North is fine. Down here the economy is in the toilet and the cycle is stuck on flush.

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I’ve been a good girl and it’s been a while since I asked you for anything.

“Christmas is for kids,” they say. But I feel my material needs have gone unmet for too long. I’m putting up a brave front, but my inner child is screaming for stuff. So I’ve made a list …

First the toys:

Toyota makes great cars and mine still runs. But I’m hoping my request for an upgrade won’t seem extravagant. I’d like a Porsche. A Porsche plane. Seriously. Who even knew they made them? But they do, and I want one. A PFM 3200. Red, please. I’ll need an instructor to teach me how to fly it. Blond, well-built and not over 30. Personality optional.

A little bling goes a long way to brighten a girl’s mood. I want the biggest, shiniest rock that the child labourers can drag from the bowels of the Earth. Set in platinum as a ring, size 6. Something like what Will gave Kate. But bigger.

You may remember me as an animal lover. I appreciate the puppies and kittens from Christmases past. I’ve had many critters, but never anything special, nothing “exotic.”

In the backwoods of Vietnam, a shy, gentle, deer-like creature called the saola roams. Critically endangered, its existence was only confirmed in 1992. To this day, scientists have yet to observe one in the wild. Please, Santa. I know you can find one.

Shoot it and make it into a coat for me. Leave the head and tail on. The fur is a lovely shade of auburn. The colour should match the Porsche plane nicely. I shall wear it when I fly.

Some say Christmas is not complete without the carol singers. I say It’s Only Rock and Roll (But I Like It). And it’s been ages since I’ve seen a good show. We may have to move some furniture, but I think the Rolling Stones and their entourage would just fit into our living room.

Suggest to them that they open our show with Sympathy for the Devil. The Son of God gets so much attention over the holidays. The Prince of Darkness may be feeling a little unloved.

Let’s not forget dinner.

After 25 years meat-free, this vegetarian has some serious cravings. No tofu turkey on the table this year. Guilt has gone out the window. Bring on gluttony.

Near Kobe in Japan, Wagyu cattle spend their three short years drinking beer and getting massages. Lives lived, they go on to become truly exceptional eating. Even a small steak costs hundreds of dollars, and it’s nearly impossible to obtain one outside of Asia.

If anyone can fly their sled around the Canadian Food Inspection Agency it’s you, Santa.

Make mine 26 ounces of bloody-rare, melt-in-your-mouth, black baby cow. Top it off with a shovelful of foie gras. The only thing on my plate remotely resembling a vegetable should be a pile of black truffles. Present them swimming in butter.

And don’t forget the lobster. Lots of lobster. I’ve heard they scream when you boil them. No worries. We’ll just ask Mick and the boys to play louder.

Sushi is the ultimate finger food. I’d like to treat the family and friends to tuna. I’m sick of sustainable, local B.C. albacore. Bring me bluefin. Very few are still swimming, but I want the biggest, fattiest one you can find. It’ll never fit in the fridge. You can leave it in the swimming pool.

After all that, chocolates for dessert will do. “Birthday Cake Truffles” are the product of a collaboration between Godiva and Food Network star Duff Goldman. They are described as “vanilla cake mousse in a white chocolate shell, sprinkled with white pearl nonpareils.” I’ve no idea what “nonpareils” are. But I’m willing to guess they will cost me a few extra hours on the treadmill. I’ll pay. Bring us a box.

As with any McDonald family gathering, there will be boxes of wine on the dining room table, and bottles of vodka in the kitchen cupboards. No need to break with tradition. But we could class it up a little.

Don’t be fooled by the name. “Billionaire” vodka comes in at just $3.75-million. The five-litre bottle is covered in fake fur and real diamonds. Ordinarily I’d recycle the bottle, but this one I’ll keep as a souvenir from what will surely be the best Christmas ever.

Thanks for all this. Oreos and milk will be next to the fireplace. Our bar is always open over the holidays – help yourself if you need something stronger.

Back to work and reality now …

Love, Heather.

Heather McDonald lives in Kamloops, B.C.

 

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