How fast the Earth spins! How quickly children grow! How furiously the cold wind blows during this chilly and dark month of Kislev. In other words, it’s time to ramp up my annual what-I-want-the-Hanukkah-Man-to-Bring-Me list.

Newsflash.  There really is a Hanukkah Man. He is my father. And every year, he bestows on his many, many children, children-in-law, grandchildren, grandchildren-in-law, and great-grandchildren all kinds of Hanukkah swag. However, what follows is not for my father but rather, for those in my inner circle, such as my husband, my children, and God.

For the first night of Hanukkah, I humbly request that I be restored to my previous daunting height of five feet and four inches.  I have, in fact, been five feet and four inches tall since about 1973, when I stopped growing, and have been telling medical professionals and others who might need to know my height that I’m five feet and four inches tall ever since. Until, that is, yesterday, when I went to one of my seemingly endless doctor appointments only to be measured, sans shoes, whereupon I learned that I am now five feet and three and a half inches tall. When I protested, I was told that for my age, a loss of a half an inch is nothing to stress over.  Which brings me to my next request.

For the second night of Hanukkah, I’d like people to stop saying........

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