It’s the holiday season but you can’t say Merry Christmas anymore because it’s not holidically correct. Some people don’t like to be reminded that two-thousand years ago, Santa Claus died on a cross so we could crowd the shopping malls, put hot lights on a dry tree and celebrate the twelve days of Christmas. I used to wish that Christmas was just the twelve days, but that was until I fell in love.
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree. The pear tree was tough to get into my apartment considering it’s a studio but once we got it past the front door, it worked out great because I have really high ceilings.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, two turtle doves and I had to buy a cage because I couldn’t have birds just flying around the house. But I really like them because they’re the symbol for love or peace or hope and they’re mentioned a lot on the Bible and they greeted Moses with an olive branch when he walked in circles around the desert for four-hundred years.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me, three French hens and I’m beginning to think she really likes birds but it’s all good because I like eggs in the morning.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, four Colly birds which is a fancy way of saying blackbirds which is how these pet stores can get so much for them. They really look like ravens which reminds of that Edgar Allen Poe poem about them and now I can’t sleep at night. Maybe I can sell them on eBay.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, five golden rings which is really a nice gift but I can’t wear them all at once because I’m not a drug dealer or a rapper or Liberace. And no offers on the Colly birds yet even though there’s no reserve.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six geese a laying and it would be great but I’m trying to lower my cholesterol and the hens lay enough. Maybe I should have dropped some hints about an Xbox.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, seven swans a swimming and no place for them to swim so now my bathtub is full and I have to take my showers at the gym.
On the eight day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, eight maids-a-milking but I have nothing for them to milk so I have them dealing with the eggs. I wonder if someone will trade me a cow for some of these birds.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, nine ladies dancing and they kick their heels up so I had to move the coffee table and corral all the birds with all of that kicking.
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, ten Lords-a-Leaping and so much for the gates I put up to hold the birds and between the birds and the maids and the lords, I can barely make it to the kitchen without getting kicked, bumped or stepping in bird poop.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, eleven pipers piping and it’s that really high pitched piping that bypasses your ears and goes straight to that part of your brain where forehead busting migraines are born.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, twelve drummers drumming, eleven complaints to management, ten sleepless nights, nine days being late to work, eight nasty notes on my door, seven police visits, six nasty looks from neighbors, five holes in the wall, four painful bruises, three prescriptions for migraines, two broken televisions, and one eviction notice. I think I’m skipping Christmas next year; and I’m going find a girl who’s a little less giving
a decidedly myopic rehashing of the not so obvious... Seinfeld should have thought of it
