When my children were little, I sent a list of things that they would 'want' or need for Christmas to family and friends that asked. However, that list couldn't have been farther from the truth.

This is a pretty comprehensive list of what your 10 month old REALLY wants for Christmas.

1.) This Laptop Cord

I want this laptop cord more than I have ever wanted anything. Please. I also want the power strip with the orange on/off button and the white label on the other cord pictured (the one not connected to the laptop). I would be ok with just a bunch of electrical cords in general, but I would really love these specific ones that are located behind my mother’s desk next to the air-conditioner (whose cord I also want).

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2.) This Wall Mount Entertainment Center

I have no idea why my mother does not want me to play with this thing, as it is obviously a child’s toy. I would like one for my room.

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3.) House Keys

I would love a set of house keys. To eat, obviously. Only metal house keys will do. Please do not buy me plastic ones. I am not an idiot. I know that plastic house keys are not real keys.

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4.) Everybody’s Eyeglasses

I pull these off the face of every person I meet, only to have them pried from my fingers and reclaimed by their original owners. I would love a pair of my own. Again, these are going to be for eating.

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5.) The Contents of This Thing

I would love for the contents of this thing to be emptied out onto the floor– particularly things like used, wet cotton balls and discarded pieces of floss. If you would like to just take the contents of this bin and transfer it directly into my stocking, that would also be fine.

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6.) Handfuls of the Dog’s Fur

This stuff is the best. I keep trying to pull it off but she moves frequently, making collection difficult. My favorite thing to do with it is put it in my mouth and then immediately realize that I didn’t want it in my mouth.

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7.) The Hole in the Hallway Floorboard

Such a strange existential dilemma. I spend hours looking at this hole and poking at it with my fingers. I know that I cannot “have” a hole, as a hole is not a thing that can be had. A hole is an absence. And yet this is supposed to be a list of the things I want, and I want this hole in the hardwood floor the way Gandhi wanted peace. The way the dog wants to lick my face. The way my mother wants me to stop pulling off her eyeglasses.

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8.) This Stuff, Which is All Over the Apartment

I have no idea what this stuff is. All I know is that I want it in my hands and no sooner have I grasped its sweet, delicate softness than my mother comes running over yelling something like, “STOP TOUCHING THAT– HOW OFTEN DO I HAVE TO F*#%ING VACUUM THE G*#@&MN HALLWAY?”

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