I’m a woman in my early 30’s. Anyone can who’s ever met me will tell you that I’m not the most mature person in the world. I’m cause more trouble than I should. I am more trouble than I’m probably worth, and I probably did something within the last week that only a 5-year-old might consider awesome. I hang on to my youth like any other adult suffering from the ever-so difficult ailment of the Peter Pan complex.
But of all my childish behavior that should be dropped like a bad habit, there’s one of which I’m still very proud and one that I’ll continue until I’m dead: writing a letter to Santa.
Since I was first able to formulate sentences — horribly, misspelled, scrawled in hot pink marker sentences — I’ve been writing a letter to Santa every year. Yes, I know that “technically” he doesn’t exist. I get that there really is no man in a red suit that’s going to fall down my chimney with a shit load of toys. But that I aside, I believe in something.
I rarely believe in things I don’t see, but when it comes to Santa, I believe in him as a necessity to humanity. The very idea of him is so important to the holiday spirit, the legend and tradition, that to dismiss all that just because some asshole in 4th grade told you there is no Santa would be a sin.
Don’t be sinful. The world is full of sinners — said the atheist. So, here are a few reasons why you should write a letter to Santa… Virginia, my love.