It's me again, and according to my kids I have been "acting out." They tell me I need to reach out to you and confess to being naughty lest I face some real "consequences." I tried to come see you at the mall but the contrived mirth of your entourage of obsequious was too much for me so I came home to write you this letter.
I will take care of the presents under the tree but when you pop down our chimney on Christmas Eve if you could place in our stockings a certain santa-je-ne-sais-quoi that fills each of us with the desire and ability to be our kindest, best, most generous selves every day that would be the greatest gift of all.
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