Hello? Is this thing on? Right, good, now listen up. Last year my dad pretended to be me and went on about what he thought I actually wanted for Christmas instead of toys and sweets. He banged on about spoons and cats and I’m sure you all thought it was really funny but I didn’t get any of that stuff so the joke is on him. Anyway, I’m a year older now and things are moving on at a bit of a lick so I thought I’d highjack the old man’s laptop and tell you how Christmas 2016 needs to go down….and I had better not be disappointed this year, or else.
Firstly, I want chocolate. Coins, buttons, bars, sprinkles, powder, spread. I don’t care if it’s cheap stuff from an advent calendar or the really good stuff you were saving for Christmas Day; I want it all. Just leave it within easy reach (essentially anything below adult shoulder height, I’m getting pretty good at scaling furniture now) and I’ll sort the rest out. And yes, I know the mum has a new sofa that she says she loves more than me (‘#jokingnotjoking’) but frankly I don’t care – if the chocolate gets on my face and my face gets on the sofa then that’s your look out. You’re just lucky that brown smear is only chocolate, capiche?
Talking of brown smears, second on my list is a collection of, say, 10 potties. When I’ve got to go, I’ve got to go so you shouldn’t be surprised when I’m in the kitchen and a wet patch appears in the front of my trousers if you’ve left the potty in the lounge. I’ve got little legs and no idea what the tingling sensation in my bladder is so you’ve only got yourself to blame if I spring a leak. And the back area, well that’s a complete mystery so let’s just agree to make every room a throne room and have done with it, OK?
Next up, I want a label maker. Don’t stiff me on this, I’ve seen the adverts on daytime TV when mum is ‘resting her eyes’ on the sofa. Every morning I have to get up at 6.00am and go through the same bloody saga with you people; “Daddy, that’s the wall. Daddy, that’s the ceiling. Daddy, that’s your light. Daddy, your light’s off. Look Mummy, a little wee wee”. Get me the label maker and we can have this sorted once and for all so I never need to tell you everything again. Either that or just let me write on the walls with my colouring pens and save yourself the expense.
Now, if I can get traditional for a bit, I could do with more cars. I know, it’s a gender cliché but they’re amazing aren’t they? I mean, wheels on the bottom and in a whole range of sizes, what more could a boy want. Whoosh, off they go, straight in to dad’s ankles or, if it’s a flying car, they quite often go for the window. I like the tractor ones, the racing car ones, the truck ones, the digger ones, the aeroplane ones. It’s all good. The boaty ones I can live without – no wheels and they just sink in the bath – but basically give me the wheels and I’ll be a happy chappy.
What’s that you’ve got? What is it? I want it. No I don’t know what it is and no I don’t know what to do with it but I want it, alright? It’s hot? It’s sharp? It’s dangerous? If it’s that bad, why have you got it? Essentially, anything you’ve got, I want it and I want it now. Wait, what? It’s disappeared. It was right there in your hand and then something happened and now it’s gone. Let me see your other hand….no way! You, sir, are some kind of warlock and I will have no part in this black magic that is surely the work of the Devil and can only…. oh, it was in your pocket. And now I look like a chump, thanks for that you dick. Now, as I was saying, I want whatever you’ve got and I……oh for fucks sake, where’s it gone now??
Another thing I could really do with is access to the bedrooms nominally awarded to my big brothers and sister. Sure, I let them sleep there and they can keep their stuff there (mostly on the floor, it seems) but let’s just get one thing straight; when they go to school, those rooms are simply extensions of my domain and I will not have you denying me access. I want to play the drums, ride the skateboard, generally mess up Barbie’s whole house (her keyboard is literally my favourite thing…. today) and if there are any cuddly toys hanging around then I want to take them to another room for no discernible reason. I only ask for what is rightfully mine (i.e. everything).
Now, I know this one might sound odd for a two-year-old but I could do with a butt load of pasta if it’s alright with you. Yes, I know I pronounce it ‘PATTA!!!’ like an excitable demon child whenever the substance is mentioned but it is genuinely the love of my life. The long stringy stuff (basketti?), the twisty ones, the tubey ones and even the ones shaped like tiny letters – it’s all good and it all needs to get in my belly. On that last point, I do now understand that food gets in to my belly via my mouth so don’t worry, I won’t try forcing carbonara in through my belly button again. Promise.
Finally, and this is a big one, I want to dance. I know it might look like I’m having a fit, running vigorously on the spot or trying (and failing) to deal with a dead leg but I’m working on my own style and if you suppress my creativity, well, you’re going to have to pay for the shrink when I’m older. Just keep the music coming, clear some space on the floor and just let me go. However, if you take me by the hands and try to make me dance like we’re in some country dancing session with the Women’s Institute then you’re going to hear all about it and it will not be pretty.
Right, I’d best be off before anyone realises they haven’t seen me for a while but if someone can sort the above out that would be great – I’m hearing more about this Santa chap who seems pretty generous so maybe pass it on to him? I’ll be waiting, patiently and if you have any difficulty working out which one I am then I’m usually wearing welly boots, a hat, some sort of chunky sweater but nothing on my nether regions – I just like to keep it free and easy down there, don’t judge me.