I know this is selfish. But, remember, you can’t spell selfish without elfish.
All I want for Cwistmas is foe our foe-yeaw-ode gwandson nevow to be able to pwonounce his Ls and Rs. That way he can continue live in a state of perpetual cuteness that, for a too-brief period in our lives, is making Christmas shine for us all.
Now, Santa, it would be altogether fitting and proper at this point for you to raise your eyebrows and call out to Mrs. Santa: “Honey, how do you spell Wackadoodle?”
But hear me out.
First, the lad’s doing just fine without those pesky letters. To wit (or at least half-wit): His favorite donut has spwinkles. The two pweschool girls he’s been most taken with are CWO-wee and E WIZZ-a-beff.
And, really, what could be more darling?
Pius, he just wives glam crackows’.
And, before you ask, as a responsible grandfather, I do plan introduce him to the complete, unabridged works of Elmer Fudd.
I also promise that he’ll have full and unfettered access to the alphabet’s remaining 24 letters, which amount to more than 92 percent, an A-minus on a bad day. Also, if you want me to teach him those weird letters they use in Russia, just a tuck a bag of wooden blocks with the Cyrillic alphabet on them beneath the tree.
(I’ll not say nyet and don’t think he can.)
Know, too, that in granting my dearest wish, you’ll be helping to ensure the boy a better life — one in which he will never be able to become “piwate” for rather obvious weasons.
On the plus side,…