An Awkward Twelve Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A partridge in a pear tree.

Hmm.  Okay, sweetheart.  Thanks for the shrubbery.  I do like pears.  But...what's with the partridge?  Is it supposed to be a pet, because I don't really like birds. They're messy...and I have to feed them.  What do partridges eat anyway?  I hope they eat pears, because otherwise this one is going to starve to death.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Two turtle doves.

Baby, I told you I don't like birds, but maybe I can make an exception for this new mutant half-breed.  TURTLE doves?  Are those like some kind of awesome birds that live down in the sewer, make friends with giant rats, love pizza, and practice ninja moves, all the while sporting colorful eye bandannas? 

No?

Do they at least have shells?  No?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Three French Hens.

Enough with the birds!  And do they have to be French?  I mean, I like what the French do with fries, but French style green beans are not cool.  The French should leave my green beans alone.  They should stay up on their castle walls, insult the Brittons, and throw cows at people. 

Can I throw your three French hens back at you?  Run away! 

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Four Calling Birds.

Birds.  Again.  Really?  Really.  You're like the least creative true love in the world.  I guess that serves me right for dating a guy who works in an aviary.  But what am I supposed to do with these FOUR calling birds?  I mean, if they're going to be making calls all the time, I'm going to have to get some kind of family plan with my mobile carrier just to accommodate them.  Sure, I can feed the partridge the pears, but I doubt my calling birds are going to settle for anything less than an unlimited calling/texting/data plan.  Then again, how do they text with their little birdie feet?  Maybe I can just convince them to use the banana phone.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Five Gold Rings.

Ah!  Now we're getting somewhere.  I mean, at least you're not giving me birds anymore.  To be honest, though, my love, I was kind of hoping that at least one of those five gold rings had a diamond attached to it, but apparently my true love is a commitment-phobe.  And you like birds.  A lot.  Yep, you're a keeper.  Well, I don't really wear a lot of rings, so I guess I'll be calling those cash-for-gold people so I can get some money towards bird seed.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Six Geese A-Laying.

Dude.  We were making great progress here, and then you go back to birds.  What in the world am I supposed to do with six geese?  And these six geese are a-laying.  A-freakin-laying.  That means little baby geese, because I'm not really sure I want to eat a goose egg.  Maybe I'll throw it at you along with the French hens.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Seven Swans A-Swimming.

Darling.  Dear heart.  Love of my life.  Does it look like I have a swimming pool at my apartment, or were you expecting me to keep seven a-swimming swans in my bathtub?  Do you know how much of a mess seven swans a-swimming would make in my bathtub?  Do you think my neighbors want to hear the sounds of seven swans a-swimming in my bathtub?  Stop buying me birds.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eight Maids A-Milking:

Okay, so granted, I am a bit of a slob, but it's kind of a slap in the face to say that I need EIGHT maids.  And what exactly are they supposed to be milking?  All you've given me up to now is a bunch of scrap gold, a pear tree, and a plethora of useless birds.  I mean, unless these turtle doves are some kind of wonderful mutant birds that have developed mammary glands, I'm pretty sure you can't milk a bird.  If you're going to buy me milking maids, you should probably at least be considerate enough to buy me a cow or a goat or something that can actually be milked.  But you know what, I really don't want a goat in my bathtub either. 

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Nine Ladies Dancing.

You know, you can keep them, because I'm pretty sure that you're going to need a new true love (or nine of them) in the near future...

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Ten Lords A-Leaping.

Leaping Lords!  Just what I always wanted!  Why are they leaping?  Nobody knows!  But maybe one of them is smart enough to realize that plants, birds, slave girls, and commitment-lacking cheap jewelry are not good gifts to give your true love...

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eleven Pipers Piping.

I'm confused.  Are they here to play annoyingly high music, smoke 'baccy, or are they here to fix the plumbing?  If they're here for the plumbing, I'm not sure why there are so many of them...

...but then my bathtub did get pretty clogged with all the a-swimming swan feathers.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Twelve Drummers Drumming.

No, thanks!  I just roasted up the three French hens, so I have plenty of drumsticks.



This is why I'm single.


Merry Christmas!