Dear Christmas Hippo,
Well, looks like she asked and she did receive. She wanted you and only you would do, and now you sit in her garage. If I may ask, how often are you getting your promised massage? I bet not often, right? She can barely do her weekly chores of trash emptying and Grandma time. Gee whiz, buddy--I am sorry.
Listen, I heard about the chimney incident on Christmas Eve. That little child said Santa wouldn't mind, but we both know from the scars on your tummy that he minded alright. Not only did he mind, but that old man struggled! He had no choice but to enter through that dirty chimney hole! He's Santa! That's his thing! I know you're a Hippo, but let's talk logic here. It's hard to stuff a fat animal down a chimney! Yes, I called you fat. You are a fat water dinosaur! You belong in the water, not in a moderatly sized claw foot tub in a suburban two-car garage! You're a water dinosaur! DINOSAUR! OF THE WATER!
Chins up, Christmas Hippo. It will get better for you. Here's the plan. When that selfish little bratty girl goes to sleep this Christmas Eve, I'm going to break into her room, verbally shame her as she sleeps, grab a Fresca from the kitchen, find the garage key, enjoy the Fresca, open the garage, empty your tub, get another Fresca from the kitchen, enjoy half of the second Fresca, and get you the heck out of that 2-car garage. Meet me by the Hello Kitty bike Santa brought that selfish little bratty girl last Christmas that she never touched after she saw you standing there. I'll be the girl holding the two cans of Fresca!
xo,
Madde
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