Dear Santa Claus,
So I'm hip to the fact that you don't actually, factually, exist. So are my kids, quite honestly -- although they've been told 'til the cows come home not to burst other kids' bubbles in this respect. But. If you happen to be swooping through the skies in my neighborhood next week, would you consider dropping off the following?
Carney's House Party/Winona's Pony Cart: Two Deep Valley Books
Emily of Deep Valley: A Deep Valley Book
I've had my eye on them quite steadfastly, as any good Betsy-Tacy lover should, ever since their reissue last month. I promise to only treasure them but also to share them with a friend. Just sayin.'
Why do I deserve such a token of good fortune? Have I been especially well-behaved? Well, Santa, consider this. This week I was part of an attentive audience of about fifty Book-of-Luke-reading children and adults when my kid blurted out, "What's a virgin??"
Santa, I rest my case.
Your long-suffering, still-blushing, disbelieving friend.