Is it too much to ask that you put down the new edition of vogue and pick up a real book (I know Hugo will be gibberish to you but I think we can start with Austen)
Maybe Marilyn is your hero, but is it too much to ask for you to give She Hulk a chance? (Green and smart what’s not to like?)
Yes we know she is wearing an ugly dress and slept with a dozen guys in a week. But is it too much to ask that you don’t judge and let her be? (Then again, gossip feeds your size 0 body. I wouldn’t want you to starve.)
I admire your confidence and your sense of style. But is it too much to ask for you to stop asking me if I want a makeover? (Bitch please. My sweater vest is vintage)
If your boyfriend physically abuses you is it too much to ask that you find your voice and make a stand? (Because if you can’t get a happy ending there sure is no hope for me)
When you are 40 and single is it too much to ask that you stop throwing yourself at every man you meet? (And in case you are in that place and wondering what to do with your life; I am always low on perpetually horny study subjects)
Is it too much to ask that you understand the real difference between a Ursula and Ariel is not in appearance but in spirit. (Although you have one on me. You figured out good girl gone bad makes the frat boys drool)
The brain is not an ornament on display. Is it too much to ask that you use it? (But then again, You would if you could)
There are so many questions unanswered. So many ideas. So many thoughts. Is it too much to ask that you find some answers? (No! How skinny you can get without dying is not what I meant!)
A ministry of magic official from the general owl post office was sorting the mail at a local muggle post office when he came across this letter.
Dear Santa Claus,
Mom wants me to write to you because she says even though you are not mentioned in any wizarding book I should believe in you. I mean an old man with a long beard on a rain deer sleigh sounds like Aberforth got confounded and didn’t use a disillusionment charm. But my parents believed in you growing up and you were their favourite part about Christmas(I did too before I started at Hogwarts). Though I think dad’s best part is egg nog, he just doesn’t want to argue with mom.
I am a witch and studied at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. And to be honest I am appalled at the leniency the ministry officials have shown in dealing with you(if in fact you exist) jingling on that sleigh in plain sight. And to think harry and Ron got into so much trouble over a flying car.
But I do like all the stories about you. Did the ministry ask you to use the floo network? Is that why you are always spotted near the fireplaces?
The muggle kids ask you for presents each year. Mom and dad get me wonderful ones (yes I know it’s not you). And after all I have said i can imagine you think this letter is worse than a howler. You should know Ron (I guess you can call him my boyfriend, we havn’t made it official yet) never forgets to remind me of how I can be a know-it-all and Luna(a dreamy witch who believes in crumpled horn snorkacks) thinks I can be narrow minded. But I don’t hate you, I would rather like to believe you exist (but Bathilda not mentioning you in A History of Magic seems a bit odd don’t you think?)
I will tell you what I wish for this Christmas. Maybe you get me a present even if it is only to prove I am wrong (because i would sooner wear dirigible plum earrings than picture you dashing through the snow).
Freedom for house elves, they still seem to be resisting my efforts to free them (don’t think you can help with that though)
An early edition of hogwarts a history.
A friend for crookshanks (with scabbers gone he really has no one to play with)
A two-way-mirror (Ron still shouts into the receiver and besides the village telephone is not very practical for a late night conversation)
So I hope you get this. And happy Christmas!
PS I am sending this by muggle post because I know the Wizards sort out mail before it reaches the muggle postoffice; and also I don’t want to send Pig on a wild hippogriff chase.
If you were a story I would be your tragic ending.
If you were a dream I would be the girl crawling out of a well.
If you were a poem I would be the word you can never rhyme.
If you were a full moons night I would be your werewolf.
If you were a car I would be your speed-bump.
If you were a starship I would be a Sith Lord.
If you were a bottle of scotch I would be the 7-up.
If you were time I would be a wormhole.
If you were insane I would be the hallucination.
If you were a tree I would be the chainsaw.
If you were Othello I would be the dagger.
If you were a rockstar I would be your cocaine.
But if you were a rodeo I would be your clown.