All I want from Santa is...

Don't get me wrong. I know that it's politically correct to ask only for world peace and redemption during this holiday season. But Santa's bag is only so big.

Let's get real here!

Like most middle aged folks, my personal needs are few.
Married twice, I have plenty of toasters, towels, trivets and tupperware without the tops.

You'd think ear-hair tweezers and nose-hair pluckers would be on every old guy's list, but like most, my “barber” at Supercuts takes care of those humble tasks. (Who knew?)

What would really come in handy would be a new kind of timepiece. I need a clock that compensates for time as I feel it, where days pass as minutes and years zoom by before we even consider resetting for daylight-savings. A clock like that, reflecting the real world, would be a boon to folks everywhere.

Also, I'd like is a C.R.A.F.T. finder from Santa (can't remember an f'n thing).

If you're anything like me, you wonder around the rooms in your home looking for something, but you can't remember what. Or you'll start a project only to interrupt yourself with another, and then another, finishing none of them.

What’s that all about?

It's as if we suddenly grasp our fading mortality and rush to accomplish all those things we've put off for the last 20+ years or so. A good mind-focuser would glue us to the task at hand from beginning to end. Sure, it would be boring. Lots less exercise, too. But consider: We'd actually accomplish something, perhaps something important, like getting the garbage can from the back of the house to the curb. Of course that's one of the main reasons why I moved into a condo...just have to walk down the hallway.

“I Put It Here Somewhere!” I wonder, does Santa have the gift of order in his bag? You know, the ability to keep everything in its place. And even more important: the gift of remembering where that place is located.

Just think! It would be the end of daily routines ending with the phrase, "I know I put it here somewhere." Thing is, we MA’s (middle age’rs) tend to lose track of everything. And just between you and me, it's not entirely our fault. By the time we reach our age, we've got so much stuff in our heads we all suffer from what is technically known as “brain bloat”.

Think about it (if you can).

There are all those history dates that you learned in fourth grade. Whole paragraphs of Shakespeare memorized for high school English. Service serial numbers, phone numbers and addresses from every place you've ever lived, useless DOS commands, old computer passwords, even the birth dates and favorite colors of high school girl and boyfriends — everything you ever saw, heard, smelled or felt dating back to Day One.

My God! With all that stuff clogging the old noggin, it's amazing that we even remember our way home! (I use it as a darned good excuse when I don't make it home.)

So here goes.

Dear Santa,
I'll make it short this year. All I want for Christmas are 60-hour days that will grow longer with each month, some kind of clapper that will find my lost glasses when they're on my head, and a Project Magnet that won't let go until I finish.

And, oh yes, world peace.

Thanks,

Larry

P.S. I've been a good boy this year. At my age, I got to change that.