Opinion: A letter to Anishanta

Dear Anishanta:

I really hope you have not gained any weight because my chimney is exactly the same width it was last Christmas.

Okay, now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, let’s talk turkey— or goose, or ham — whatever floats your boat.

Your secretary already has a letter from me; let’s call that my SEND letter, which lists the items I ordered for delivery on Dec. 24th.

Just to refresh your memory, it included additional protective measures for our Indigenous leaders defending our rights, a long-handled shoe horn to make it easier for Pierre Poilievre to put one foot (left or right) in his mouth, and a trillion Toonies to cover the overdue increase in Robinson Huron Treaty annuities.

(As per my usual modest custom, Anishanta, I only requested one small item for myself, in this case, a small Maserati. It will not even take up a whole parking space, which I believe is very environmentally-conscious of me.)

Well, this year, circumstances require that I send a second letter that warrants your personal attention — I don’t trust elves to deal with critical issues — and, hopefully, you agree to take prompt and appropriate action.

Perhaps I should say, “inaction”!

You should consider this my DO NOT SEND letter.

Not sure if you get many of these, but if you really are as jolly as you claim to be, you need to pay just as much attention to what your clients don’t want to see under the tree Christmas morning as the gifts they are delighted to receive.

You’ll be glad to hear that my DO NOT SEND list is quite brief — only two items — but they are each very troublesome in their own way.

Firstly, please avoid bringing me any size, shape, or colour of fruit cake. Don’t believe all those recipes you see in the paper these days claiming to produce “The World’s Best Fruit Cake”. There is no such thing, and, if there was, I would sure hate like the dickens to eat the world’s second-best!

Wikipedia says, “The chemical composition of fruit cake makes it possible to keep for 100 years!” Look, Anishanta, nothing that is possible to keep for 100 years is fit to eat! Good bricks don’t last that long. Speaking of which, the last 10 fruit cakes I received as Christmas gifts are currently serving as door stops in my home, and I have no more doors that require being propped open, thank you.

Secondly, can we please have a moratorium on water bottles?

One never likes to look a gift horse in the mouth, whatever that means, but the generosity of various organizations has left my cupboards crammed with a very broad spectrum of glass, plastic, copper, and stainless steel flasks. They are tapered, wide-mouthed, insulated, free-sip, spout-lidded, and so on and so forth, but they all hold about a pint and a half of water, easily three days’ supply for yours truly. One can only drink from one container at a time.

It doesn’t help to read that the toxic chemicals in plastic bottles can leach into the water they contain. Guess they might make nice flower vases, but roses are running about ten bucks each these days, so that could be a costly proposition.

Bottom line — I don’t need any more water bottles.

I calculated that, if I filled my collection with tap water today, I’d have enough to last me at least a year in my bunker in case of an emergency.

So there you have it, Anishanta. Following my suggestions will lighten your load and give the reindeer a break… and leave more room for my teensy-weensy Maserati.

You’re welcome.

Maurice S.