I dreamed a little dream.

Welp, it appears I underestimated how much the new job would wear me out.  Massive apologies for no posts in almost 3 weeks.  My bad, ya’ll.

I do have some news though!  Nope, not pregnant, and nope, we aren’t moving to Florida yet either, sorry to disappoint.  This is horsie news, ala Gigi.  Did I buy her? Nope.  Will I?  Not in this lifetime.

Turns out, she’s already sold!  Too bad I didn’t know that when I started sending Santa letters asking for her.  But at least now I can stop being angry at Old St Nick and stop wasting my time looking at sparkly browbands that would look omg so gorgeous on her.

The ironic part?  I think I forsaw this in a dream.  Wait, stay with me here, just hear me out on this.  If you’ve ever met me in person, you know I have extremely vivid dreams, and I dream a lot.  Like, a lot a lot.  After I had surgery a few years ago and was on massive amounts of Oxycodone, I had the most amazing/terrifying dreams.  I think I actually freaked my mom out in several cases.  Anywho, I had a dream (hmph, some might say a nightmare) about Gigi and how a good friend of mine (you know who you are!) STOLE HER right out from under me.  Yes, I’ll say it – it was a total nightmare.

Basically, a friend of mine rode Gigi UP the stairs into my apartment (it’s a dream, things can get wierd) and casually dropped the announcement that she’d bought Gigi since I clearly wasn’t going to…and get this, my HUSBAND was in on it too!  No one seemed to care that I was ripsh*t not ok with all this going down, except my friend’s husband, who just sat on the couch and wept because he was the only one who understood that our friendship was over.  I stomped over to my husband and was pleading with him, trying to understand why he would do this to me (I legit felt like my world was ending here….a little dramatic, yes, but again, it was a dream and I have zero control once in the dream).  His response?  He coolly lit up a cigarette (he doesn’t smoke in “real life”), and I promptly slapped him as hard as I possibly could, already planning out the divorce.

Then I woke up.

Barely two weeks later, I learned that Gigi was sold.  How’s THAT for a premonition??!!

 

Dear Santa, thanks for nothing.

I woke up yesterday morning to the lovely sounds of my husband frantically wrapping Xmas gifts before I woke up.  Way to plan, buddy.

(and yes, I know I’m being slightly judgey and hypocritical here, as I later shoo’d him away from the living room while yelling “Avert your eyes!” while I filled his stocking.  Whoops.)

Yes, the day was great – filled with foods, friends, and Christmas presents.  Yay Christmas and Jesus.

But guess what was missing?

A pony…anywhere, much less under my tree.

Gee thanks, Santa, way to not fulfill my hopes and dreams this year.

Luckily, my birthday is right around the corner, and guess what this soon-to-be 29 year old newlywed wants?

(if you guess “a baby”, you’re totally wrong, but at this point, if you guessed anything other than “a Gigi”, then you’re clearly missing the point of these posts)

Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is a pony.

No seriously, Santa, bring me a pony.  Wrapped in a bow.

Actually, what I really want is a “Gigi” for Christmas.  She’s a 16.3 hand Dutch warmblood cross “pony”, and she’s amazing! (sidenote: I feel like if I continue to use the word “pony”, my husband won’t put two and two together to realize I’m actually referring to the gigantic 1400 pound beast mare I leased this past summer.  So far, it’s not working.  Plus, when I tell my non-horsie friends that I want a HORSE for Christmas, they freak out a little.  But if I use the term “pony”, everyone smiles and giggles a little as they envision tiny little ponies prancing in the snow.)

But Santa, please don’t get confused here.  I don’t want a stupid pony.*  I want Gigi. For reals.

I wasn’t kidding about the bow, either.

Actually, what I really want is for my husband to make breakfast for me on Christmas morning, then make up a weird excuse for us to go run errands, and then we just happen to drive to the barn, and while I feign surprise, walk over to a stall wrapped in a giant red bow.

With Gigi inside.

And a fancy nameplate on the stall door declaring me her owner forever and ever and ever.

Thanks, Santa, I know you’ll pull through for me!  I’ll leave some sweet snickerdoodles at the barn for you;  feel free to share w/ Gigi, but be careful, she’s a treat freak.

*not all ponies are stupid.  Most are actually much smarter than their riders, and some are even quite adorable.  However, I feel ginormous on anything under 16 hands, so there you go.