It’s hard to remember Christmas at age four. To our adult minds, those days are like the North Pole one foggy Christmas Eve: the Santas of our memory cannot deliver their bags full of youthful joys to our present. We at USC, void of youthful joy, are lucky this year to have a Rudolph to light the way. Our new 4-year-old wunderkind staff writer agreed to send his letter to Santa by way of Christmas Basement Mail.
I tried really hard to be good this semester, I promise. The transition from preschool to college was pretty rocky (especially with my roommate Tim’s snoring, amirite?), but I hope I’m still on the “nice” list!
I know my 8 PM bedtime is a challenge for Tim. I wouldn’t say that he parties almost every night, because that might put him on the “naughty” list, but for Christmas could I have some heavy duty ear plugs? And for when I do pull all-nighters, a heat-tolerant sippy cup would prevent another Americano fiasco (sorry, Tim!). And a night light. Not that I’m scared, because I’m not. Just a night light for my desk and bathroom and closet and maybe a spare just in case would be great. Tim says me getting scared and sleeping in his bed was a one time deal.
I try not to draw attention to my 3’4″ stature, but could I have a mini-er mini fridge? And some pans, too. Apparently, Tim buys a lot of pots from his friend and once those show up we should keep it balanced. (And I hope with all this “blazing” he and his friends know about stop, drop and roll!)
Can you put textbooks and the Internet on my LeapFrog? I don’t want to whine, or for you to think it wasn’t a good present last year. It’s taught me to add single digit numbers pretty well, but I think my Art History paper suffered for it. Speaking of art, could you throw your weight around in helping me get a finger painting GE approved? I think my talents in that field are being wasted.
And my Spanish professor MUST know I know she’s secretly Dora the Explorer… Could you remind her to respond to my notas about that? And maybe we could go get nachos. She’ll know what that means.
I’d like some of those extra large Trojan water balloons the RA keeps in the bucket in the hall for myself. They’re a weird shape, but the plastic is nice and weak, so they break easily when they’re full. I don’t know why the rest of the hallway complains about them so much.
Speaking of the rest of the hallway, it seems like everyone else has a fake ID to go buy “drinks.” Tim thought it would be hilarious for me to taste some, and the verdict is in – they’re gross! But it would be nice to pass for 13: I couldn’t get into Sherlock Holmes yesterday, and reinforced some stereotypes about my age group with all the crying.
Santa, I don’t know if this is the kind of thing you can do, but more than anything — I want to know if my friends really like me for me. They keep saying “he’s so cute!!” in a stuffed-animal way, and I’m worried they just hang around so they can borrow my Razor (I thought those were for kids?).
Also…. I know this is silly, because Kelly is 19 and seems to be misguidedly into Tim, but… could I have a pair of those shoes that make you taller?
Lastly, if it’s not too much trouble – a Batman and a race car and a puppy and a Batman cape for the puppy!!!
Milk and Cookies,