in the parking lot of a big box reno store, i am telling mr. monkey all about a co-worker who was stressed out because her daughter's letter to santa was filled with strange and difficult-to-find items:
moi: so she's freaking out about not being able to buy everything on her daughter's letter! can you imagine? who knew that a letter to santa was something that you had to follow to religiously? i always figured it was just a guideline. you know: they ask for a macbook, you get them a calculator; they ask for a pony, you get them a hamster sort of thing.
mr. monkey (slightly confused look on his face): ...
moi: isn't that odd? that she's getting everything on this letter to santa?
mr. monkey: what?
moi: letter to santa.
mr. monkey (increasing look of incomprehension): what?!
moi: her daughter's letter to santa!
mr. monkey (frankly horrified): WHAT? a letter of placenta?!?
moi: yes. a letter to placenta: "dear placenta, this year under the uterus i'd like a vulva." christ.