Santa, I hope it's not too late for a wish list

Dear Santa,

As I'm sure you know, I haven't exactly asked for much in the last 30 years. Actually, I don't think I've asked for anything since I was barely a teen. So, Mr. Claus, I feel I've earned the right to cash in a few biggies. There's a few things I want these days and, quite frankly, you're about the only guy I know with the magic to make this all happen.

So here goes.

1. I'd like people to stop mistaking me for a woman.

It started about 20 years ago. I'd let my hair get a little shaggy, I'd let my mid-section get slightly rotund and I probably dressed like the grunge-era college student I was. One day, while wearing sunglasses, I'd exited an apartment building carrying an end table and was walking down the sidewalk when this friendly young man saw me and immediately came to my aid.

In a most chivalrous gesture, he held the door for me.

"I'll grab that door for you, ma'am," he said. I looked at him like he was an idiot. He recognized his mistake.

"Oh, sorry," he said, letting go a nervous laugh. "It's just that you were looking a little androgynous, there."

From there it's been a steady stream of gender misidentification. After my daughter was born, I tried taking her to a rest stop to change her diaper, only to have the rest stop worker come running out of her office as I tried to enter the men's room and say, "³Excuse me but, are you a man??!"

With my diaper-soaked daughter in my arms, I looked at her, mouth agape. She looked back at me as she walked closer, realized her error, apologized, and I went about my business of tending to Emma's business.
Even today it happens regularly. 


The guy at Chipotle, who recovered nicely by insisting that he didn't call me "ma¹am," but rather, "man." The woman ringing up my groceries. The pimple-faced punk taking tickets at the movie theater. The guy selling me a beer at the Twins game. And, most recently, the fellows at the McDonald's in Jordan who, as they tried to untangle the trainee's botched touch-screening of my order, referred to me SEVERAL times as "she."

Please, Santa. Fix this.


When I tell people this, they're always like, "What? No. No way! You don't look anything like a woman!"


And I agree ... to a point.


Sure, if you know me, and you¹re looking at me straight on, of course you don't see a woman. You see Robb. But if you don't know me, and maybe you just see my often-times shaggy hair out of the corner of your eye, and I'm a little shorter than the average guy, and if the light bounces off my hair and eyes just right ... Hmmmmm.


I just want it to stop. Please.

Santa, I¹ve got a few other items on my list, too.

2. I'd really like a Springsteen tour.


I know Bruce has already announced a 2012 tour. So, as he has yet to announce the U.S. tour dates, I'd like you to make sure this tour kicks off in St. Paul.

3. Make it so the following people stick their tongues on a frozen flag pole this winter:


Rush Limbaugh, Ke$ha, the people from the really irritating morning show on that one Mankato FM station, Kim Kardashian, and that woman from the rest stop who literally questioned my manhood. Oh, and Donald Trump.

4. Help my beagle, Henry. He's the naughtiest dog on the planet. Just in the last two weeks he's absconded with enough holiday baked items to earn him a stay at doggie prison, if such a place existed. We're clearly incapable of helping this animal, Santa. You're a magical man, Santa. Spread some of that to Henry.

5. Help Rachel Iverson, a very sick girl I wrote about a week ago. She's battling cyclic vomiting syndrome and postural orthostatic tachycardic syndrome. Her life is a constant struggle, and she's a good kid. She prays,
of course. But I'm just thinking, you know, if you're able, help this kid out.

6. World peace.

But Santa, if you can only do one of these, No. 1 is listed at No. 1 for a reason. Ya feel me?