Dear Santa

Santa,

You know what? I was always one of your biggest supporters. I continue to believe in you, through some combination of the String Theory of physics (sleighs that travel faster than the speed of light), religion (belief in an unseen being who watches over us), and an appreciation for the powerful magical thinking of young children. I know that you probably aren't a fan of college students. We're whiny, inclined to sarcastic disbelief, easily stressed out, and not placated with toys of the usual sort. We also do foolish things, like believe that we as mere mortals can travel halfway around the world and make it back for December 25th.

I'm begging you here in an open letter, because I have already prayed to God, to my mother, to the Heathrow Airport staff, and mostly to the weather system currently governing our jet stream that I can make it home to Pennsylvania on Saturday.

I wouldn't normally be writing to you, Santa, but it's obviously the season for such things and certain BBC forecasters are blaming this on you. With their polished, overzealous British accents, these weather men are stating that this is an "arctic blast straight from the North Pole". The rare, frozen weather here does not come frosting lamely from Toronto, it comes from some cold northern lands where vikings once crashed through the ice in longboats. Now Santa, I understand that I was already saved once, in Edinburgh. I also understand that my boring adult commuter pleas cannot override the White Christmas wishes of thousands of hopeful British kids. Christmas is not a holiday for adults as it is for children, I know this. What I am asking, praying, begging for is a 6 hour time slot on Saturday morning. Please withdraw the snow for just a while so that my bus can carry me safely to the airport, and the plane can depart on schedule. I would thank you, my mother would thank you. Please, just consider granting one wish.