Dear Santa: I’m Writing Because, Frankly, There’s a Problem

Dear Santa,

Are you still there? It’s me again, Ke.

You probably didn’t expect to get any letters after Christmas, but I’m writing because, frankly, there’s a problem.

You see, when I was seven, I asked you for a Nimbus 2000. The night before, I even baked you chocolate chip cookies and left them on the mantle with a glass of milk. In the middle of the night, I crawled out of bed and braved the dark just to make sure your snack was still there for you. (And I swore I saw my dad nibbling on your cookies so I stealthily slid over, grabbed a nearby stocking, and smacked him in the leg—but that’s another story for another day.)

But my efforts were futile. On that cold, fateful morning, I ran to the Christmas tree and found an oddly square package. My faith undeterred, I unwrapped it only to reveal an ugly Christmas sweater instead.

Every year after that, I asked for the same thing. To my dismay, you always gave me an ugly Christmas sweater.

One time, I tried giving you a hint. I was eleven years old and determined to get that broomstick. In a letter addressed to the North Pole, I even included links on Amazon for where you could buy (or steal) the Nimbus 2000. But of course, I unfailingly received an ugly sweater.

Ten years and ten Christmas sweaters later, I’m still waiting for that Nimbus 2000.

I guess I’m still a muggle.

Impatiently yours,

Ke Zhao