I know in my heart you’re not real.
That hasn’t quelled the rage I’ve been carrying for nigh on two decades.
I heard tales of your conditional generosity my entire life.
Media like Kidsongs and The Polar Express taught me that if someone had a pure heart and believed in your mythology, they would be blessed with their heart’s desire.
Apparently my belief wasn’t strong enough or my heart wasn’t pure enough, because I never got what I truly wanted for Christmas.
Tonight, I’m calling you out:
Where is my PONY?
You mean to tell me that I was socially conditioned by female-centered media to want a pony…for nothing?
Has your stock been low for…the last TWENTY YEARS??
I dreamt of a pony for years and I even knew what KIND I wanted:
Shetlands are solid. Stable. Compact.
I HAVE LIVED IN THREE-BEDROOM HOUSES AND TWO-BEDROOM APARTMENTS FOR MOST OF MY LIFE.
TRUST ME: THERE WAS ROOM FOR A SHETLAND.
It’s too late to fix it now.
I’ve given up on ponies.
Not only am I WAY too big for a pony, all my hope is gone.
I ask for books for Christmas now…like a boring ADULT.
This was your doing, Sinterklaas.
YOU did this.
I’ll never forgive you for it.
UNhappy Christmas to YOU,