Wishful Thinking

People who know me are rarely surprised to find out that I believed in Santa Claus until I was, I don't know, seventeen, perhaps.  What they may not know, however, is that I also believed in Wishful Thinking.
Wishful Thinking was a glittery little fairy who hung out on my pillow at night taking dictation of my deepest desires and whimsical fantasies.  She would relay this information to the proper recipient .... God, Santa, Cher .... whoever needed to know, Wishful Thinking gave them the message.  I trusted her with all my important information.
I did not write a lot of letters directly to Santa because I did not, on the other hand, trust my mother.  Not because I thought she was Santa, but because I knew she would read my very detailed letters and make fun of me.  And I doubted she would even mail them if I did actually put pen to paper.  If we couldn't afford a Band-Aid, I doubted we could afford a stamp.  If I ever did write a letter, it was a phony.  Yeah, right.  I want a dolly.  Sure, Santa, bring me that.  Wishful Thinking had the real list!
I cannot fully explain the disconnect, however.  Wishful Thinking had the list along with supporting evidence but Santa never did bring me what I wanted.
I don't blame Wishful Thinking, though.  I mean, I know she's a dingbat.  People can't even say her name without rolling their eyes, "Oh, that's just Wishful Thinking!"  They say it all sarcastic like the Tin Man to the Scarecrow, "Oh, that's you all over!"
Wishful Thinking!  You really gotta roll your eyes right up to Heaven when you say it.
But I still trust her.  It's not her fault stupid, fake Santa wouldn't listen!