All I (didn’t) want for Christmas – New York Daily News

Expensive Santa,

For so long as I can keep in mind, I’ve been writing to you about what presents I hoped to seek out underneath the tree on this Christmas morning. You’ve all the time been greater than beneficiant. However now, as I enter my so-called “golden years,” my wants, desires and wishes have modified.

So, this 12 months, I’m writing you a special form of letter. This 12 months I’m writing to clarify to you all of the issues I didn’t need for Christmas.

Electronics. I’m an i-troglodyte who nonetheless makes use of my first AOL e mail handle. I would not have the capability to discover ways to function yet one more digital machine. My psychological onerous drive is full. Each time I get a notification about an replace to one among my working methods, I’ve a panic assault. The one manner I can textual content is by painstakingly typing the letters one after the other with my index finger. Then I’ve to return and proper all of the gibberish my typos and autocorrect created. Usually it takes me a number of passes simply to textual content the message, “Goodbye.” I’m satisfied my good telephone, smartwatch and good TV are all synced to make me really feel dumb. Santa, I hope you deleted any digital presents for me off your checklist.

Ties. With the uncommon exception of a marriage or funeral, I by no means put on a tie. But hanging in my closet are a number of dozen, most had been Christmas items given to me during the last a number of many years. Hanging subsequent to them is a full rack of sport coats, additionally spanning a number of many years previous. (I virtually by no means put on them, both). If time journey ever turns into a factor, it doesn’t matter what period I’m transported to, I’m assured I’ve a jacket and tie to put on that will likely be in vogue. Till then, most days you will discover me sporting an previous T-shirt and sweatpants.

Scented Candles. I’ve by no means had a burning want for my home to scent like French vanilla, recently-baked apple pie or pumpkin something. To not seem ungrateful, Santa, however everytime you’ve left me a scented candle, I’ve instantly re-gifted it to a neighborhood household in want of a greater smelling home. Couple this with the truth that I misplaced most of my sense of scent because of COVID and I hope you’ll agree that no scents is smart.

Home Objects. There may be an previous saying that sooner or later, you now not personal your possessions, they personal you. I’ve reached that time. Now I’m all about decluttering. If somebody comes over to my home and expresses even a passing curiosity in a vase, candelabra or fruit bowl, chances are high good I’m sending them residence with it. Actually, Santa, while you got here by my place on Christmas Eve final night time, I hope when you noticed something you thought Mrs. Claus may like, you took it with you again to the North Pole. Odds are I’ve two extra of no matter you took up within the attic.

Experiences. If I had any curiosity in all on the right way to make artisanal cheese or tofu pork loin, I promise you, I might have already got taken a cooking class in it. Ditto trapeze classes, skydiving over the Grand Canyon and taking part in a scavenger hunt in New York Metropolis’s Bowery District. Today I’m content material to dwell vicariously by way of the bizarre, harmful and ridiculous experiences of others, as meticulously chronicled on YouTube and TikTok.

Messaging Items. I don’t suppose it’s my place to hold an indication in my home lecturing folks to “Reside, Giggle and Love.” Nor do they have to be reminded that “Every Day is a New Starting” or that “It’s 5 O’ Clock Someplace, Time to Drink Wine.” I don’t purport to be the “World’s Biggest” something and I’m not going to lie and put on a t-shirt or drink from a espresso mug that claims in any other case.

So, Santa, that’s every part I didn’t need for Christmas. I admire your understanding my state of affairs. However, having stated all of this, I can all the time use socks and underwear.

Merry Christmas!

John

Ficarra is a contract author.