A childhood memory about Christmas time is (I don’t know exactly at what age it was), when my mom, a dear aunty A. and me were sitting at the table having cookies and tea. I have no idea where the other kids were, as it usually happens with memories. Pieces are blank. While they were busy chatting, I was reading a certain magazine and in it was a page full of letters for Santa Claus. Immediately I had an idea to write to Santa myself. In the corner there was a certain address, probably somewhere around the North Pole. So I found a pen and paper to write down the address where I can send this letter to. I penned it down, put the piece of paper in my pocket with a note to myself to find it later and write my wishes to Santy. Absorbed with this idea I stood up from the chair as I couldn’t quite reach the cookie plate and right then I felt a sharp, staggering pain in my foot.
I let out the loudest, wildest cry. Turning to me in bewilderment aunty A., as she was closest, realized she had put one leg of the chair over my finger toe while adjusting her seat. Apologies were made, cookies shared and no scars remained. Good or bad, I saw some stars.
