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.