Dear Santa:

I rarely ask for much. This year is no exception. I don't need diamond

earrings, handy slicer-dicers or comfy slippers. I only want one little

thing, and I want it deeply.

I want to slap Martha Stewart.

Now, hear me out, Santa. All I want is just one good smack, right across

her smug, little cheek. I get all cozy inside just thinking about it.

Don't grant this wish just for me; do it for thousands of women across

the country. Through sheer vicarious satisfaction, you'll be giving a

gift to us all. Those of us leading average, garden-variety lives aren't

concerned with gracious living.

We feel pretty good about ourselves if our paper plates match when we

stack them on the counter, buffet-style for dinner. We're tired of Martha

showing us how to make centerpieces from hollyhock dipped in 18-carat

gold. We're plumb out of liquid gold. Unless it's of the furniture polish

variety. We can't whip up Martha's creamy holiday sauce, spiced with

turmeric. Most of us can't even say turmeric, let alone figure out what

to do with it.

In a recent published interview, we discovered that not only does Martha

avoid take-out pizza (she's only ordered it once), she refuses to eat it

cold (No cold pizza? Is Martha Stewart living?) When it was pointed out

that she could microwave it, she replied, "I don't have a microwave."

The interviewer noted that she said this "in a tone that suggests you

shouldn't either."

Well, lah-dee-dah. Imagine that, Santa!