Dear Santa, I'd love an unshared biscuit. It doesn’t have to be a chocolate one. I draw the line at a rich tea, but a plain digestive would do. Untouched by sticky fingers. Or at least unlicked.
I’m writing this just a few days into December, sitting at the table with reindeer-shaped fairy lights twinkling around me, the tree up in the corner...
Even a couple of years down the line from the vomiting incident, my child still worried if she had been ‘good enough’ all year. I would catch her googling “Am I on the Nice List?”
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