Santa Wish List Quotes

I’m so glad I put a hot, naked guy on my Christmas wish list. I just didn’t think Santa would actually deliver one.

For all my Ho Ho Ho’s who made the naughty list and wished that Hallmark movies came with spice. XO, Santa

The truth is, there was no one else around. Months later, not at first, one of them would say that the office was a “desert of souls.” The other one agreed, smiling, proud that he wasn’t included in that description. And little by little, between beers, they came to share sour stories about unloved and hungry women, then soccer banter, secret Santa, wish lists, fortunetellers’ addresses, a bookie,  Jogo do bicho, cards for the punch clock, the occasional pastry after work, cheap champagne in plastic cups. In a desert of souls that were also deserts, one special soul immediately recognizes another—maybe for that reason, who knows? But neither of them wondered.

Coming “Look! Look at that!” cried Andrew. “That is what I want for Christmas!” Andrew is my little brother. He isn’t even five yet. I am Karen Brewer and I am seven years old. I have freckles and wear glasses. My hair is blonde and my eyes are blue. Christmas is my favorite time of year. Andrew was pointing to something on TV. It was a commercial for Dyno-cars. Dyno-cars are little racing cars that explode when they run into a wall or something. Then you put them back together so you can explode them again. “Remember to put Dyno-cars on your list for Santa,” I told Andrew. “I will,” he replied. Andrew and I were at home. It was a school-day afternoon. In fact, it was almost suppertime. We were coloring pictures about Christmas. I was coloring a tree with presents under it. Andrew was trying to make a Santa. “Christmas is coming,” I sang as I worked, “the geese are getting fat; Please to put a penny in the old man’s hat; If you haven’t a penny, a ha’penny will do; If you haven’t got a ha’penny, God bless you.” “You know what?” said Andrew, looking up from his picture. “What?” I asked. “I don’t understand that song. What is a ha’penny?” “I’m not sure,” I replied. “Let’s sing a song we both know,” said Andrew. So we sang “Jingle Bells.” First we sang it the regular way. Then we sang, “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg. Bat-mobile lost a wheel, and Commissioner broke his leg.” We giggled. But I stopped suddenly. Another commercial had come on TV. “There! That’s what I want!” I exclaimed. “Baby Grow-a-Tooth!” The next commercial was for an art kit. With the kit you could decorate hats and make badges. Both Andrew and I cried, “I want that!” Then I said, “Boy, it sure is hard waiting for Christmas.” “I know,” Andrew answered. “How many days, Karen?

At the beginning of the month I wrote a letter to Santa—I know, childish—but I needed something to hope for, even if it felt silly.” He smiled and shifted to sit by my side, winding his arm around my wait. “Wishing and hoping is never silly, Harper,” he whispered, nipping my jaw. I leaned into his hold and twined our fingers. “I had two things on it: you, and to be accepted.” I stared at the black ink marking my letter in my messy handwriting. He pressed his forehead against my temple. “You were on mine too, only, I didn’t send it to Santa.