Not to point out the obvious, but Mrs. Claus, wife of Santa, is an unsung lady hero. Though not quite at the level of a Shelved Doll, because, unlike La Befana, her existence is still dubious.
She is probably the only reason Santa has any originizational system whatsoever. According to Wikipedia:
“There was a lady sitting by a golden desk, writing in a large book, and Santa Claus was looking through a great telescope, and every once in a while he stopped and put his ear to a large speaking-tube.
“Presently he said to the lady, ‘Put down a good mark for Sarah Buttermilk. I see she is trying to conquer her quick temper.’
“‘Two bad ones for Isaac Clappertongue; he’ll drive his mother to the insane asylum yet.’”
Santa Claus can’t even keep his own lists, and Mrs. Claus doesn’t even get a name. Maybe her name is Mary. Or Layla. Like the second Mrs. DeWinter, it remains a thing shrouded in mystery.
Apparently her personality is not, though. “She is usually seen as a calm, kind, and patient woman, often in contrast to Santa himself, who can be prone to acting too exuberant.”
That all seems very well until you consider the fact that her only company is her husband and thousands of elves. Thousands of elves with tiny hammers and no real personality, who seem nice but are probably secretly longing for a full-scale rebellion. Elves can’t be happy working 364 days a year, always making rocking horses. Santa can’t tell this, but Mrs. Claus, beneath her gentle smile, almost certainly suspect that one night she and Santa will awake to see a hundred elves hovering over them with tiny hammers. No matter how many cookies she bakes them, Mrs. Claus can sniff out the winds of change, even up there in the arctic.
That, and there is reindeer shit all over her shoes.
So, this year, instead of just writing Santa a letter, maybe take some time to write one to Mrs. Claus as well. Ask her how she’s doing. See if she maybe needs new writing utensils, or, honestly, new shoes.