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Twelve Days of Commentary
Dec. 5th, 2014 03:05 pm"On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree."
I'd like to advise your true love to just stop here. A partridge is a pretty bird and you probably like pets. Pear trees are nice, too. But, right away, I'm seeing space concerns. I hope you're a nature lover.
"On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Now you've got four birds and two trees. Already, I'm hoping you've got a big yard in a rural area where the partridges and turtle doves can feed themselves.
"On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
We're at twelve birds and three trees. Did you ask for a noisy orchard for Christmas? Is that it? Because it looks like your true love just gave you a lot of work.
"On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
What's with all the birds here? I know each partridge has its own tree, but they're not just going to stay perched all the time. They fly about, they eat, they make a mess. All twenty two birds do that. Your true love had better give you give umbrellas tomorrow.
"On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Okay, jewelry, that's a step in the right direction. Five at once might be two big a step, but most of them are probably stained by the ten more birds.
About now, I think we should look into the possibility of counseling your true love for this compulsive gift-giving. Or at least get that true love some better taste in gifts.
"On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Geese? Geese aren't exactly a docile bird, especially when they have eggs to protect. Say goodbye to some of those gold rings, too, because geese love to swallow shiny things. What am I saying? You have ten gold rings. You can afford to lose some.
But, the noise those geese are making is bound to rile up all the other birds. Those pair trees were already painted white and now they're getting another coat. I don't know how you're going to sleep through the noise and smell.
"On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Where are they swimming? Nowhere near those twelve geese, I can tell you that much. And they're not going to be all calm and peaceful with all the noise. They're going to be making a din while the geese honk at each other, because they're territorial and they will flap and honk the crap out of strange geese.
Only one week in and you've got two teams of geese at war. Whatever of those fifteen gold rings that haven't been swallowed, you're going to have to sell for birdfeed. You've got more noise than you ever figured on in your life. On the upside, those seven pear trees are well fertilized.
I hope you like pears.
"On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Tell me... What are the maids milking? I don't see any cows, goats, sheep, or mammals of any kind in these gifts. I see fourteen justifiably skittish swans, eighteen geese fighting over nesting places, twenty calling birds I can't hear over the geese, eighteen french hens that you might just want to pluck and stuff for the holidays if only to make room, fourteen turtledoves who want to go somewhere with some peace they can be symbols of, and eight partridges afraid to leave their pair trees. None of them give milk!
Now, remembering that Christmas is a family holiday, what, exactly, are they milking?
"On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me nine ladies dancing eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Make sure these ladies know to dance with small, careful steps and not in their good shoes. And, forget about dancing to noise. The geese are the only thing that anybody can hear. Oh, wait, I hear something else. Among the twenty one swans, there are at least a couple males. Did you know that male swans fight for breeding rights over a harem of females? You do now because that's the only thing that could possibly be louder than the geese.
The sixteen poor maids can't even hear each other to ask what they're supposed to be a-milking.
"On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ten lords a leaping nine ladies dancing eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Lords a leaping? Let me think. What is the worst thing to do around ten partridges, eighteen turtle doves, twenty four french hens, twenty eight calling birds, thirty geese, and twenty eight swans? Leap around! That's it!
Wherever they land after a leap is not going to be pretty. And those pear trees aren't going to be able to support a full grown lord, so landing after leaping is inevitable.
Just how did your true love hire a bunch of landowning noblemen to leap around in the first place? Your true love must be seriously rich, just not rich enough to put up with the crazy.
"On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eleven pipers piping ten lords a leaping nine ladies dancing eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Music comes after the dancers and leapers? Isn't there something wrong with that?...
Never mind. It's not like anybody can hear them anyway. Any brief respite from the honking of goose and swan is bound to be filled with the wet splat of the landing of a lord that has leapt.
I just feel sorry for the pipers. Everybody else can at least hold their breath.
"On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me twelve drummers drumming eleven pipers piping ten lords a leaping nine ladies dancing eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Drummers. That is the perfect way to make a headache, already fed with a week and a half of mounting noise and bird crap, completely unbearable. Are you sure this is your true love? Sure, forty gold rings are nice, even if you have to have some of them cleaned after they're recovered.
Sure, maybe pears are your most perfect food. But, outside of that you've gotten a stinking opera to the tune of honk-splat-bang. This "true love" of yours may just be trying to drive you mad.
Whatever, if there's a thirteenth day of Christmas, don't accept anything but help cleaning up.
I'd like to advise your true love to just stop here. A partridge is a pretty bird and you probably like pets. Pear trees are nice, too. But, right away, I'm seeing space concerns. I hope you're a nature lover.
"On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Now you've got four birds and two trees. Already, I'm hoping you've got a big yard in a rural area where the partridges and turtle doves can feed themselves.
"On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
We're at twelve birds and three trees. Did you ask for a noisy orchard for Christmas? Is that it? Because it looks like your true love just gave you a lot of work.
"On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
What's with all the birds here? I know each partridge has its own tree, but they're not just going to stay perched all the time. They fly about, they eat, they make a mess. All twenty two birds do that. Your true love had better give you give umbrellas tomorrow.
"On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Okay, jewelry, that's a step in the right direction. Five at once might be two big a step, but most of them are probably stained by the ten more birds.
About now, I think we should look into the possibility of counseling your true love for this compulsive gift-giving. Or at least get that true love some better taste in gifts.
"On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Geese? Geese aren't exactly a docile bird, especially when they have eggs to protect. Say goodbye to some of those gold rings, too, because geese love to swallow shiny things. What am I saying? You have ten gold rings. You can afford to lose some.
But, the noise those geese are making is bound to rile up all the other birds. Those pair trees were already painted white and now they're getting another coat. I don't know how you're going to sleep through the noise and smell.
"On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Where are they swimming? Nowhere near those twelve geese, I can tell you that much. And they're not going to be all calm and peaceful with all the noise. They're going to be making a din while the geese honk at each other, because they're territorial and they will flap and honk the crap out of strange geese.
Only one week in and you've got two teams of geese at war. Whatever of those fifteen gold rings that haven't been swallowed, you're going to have to sell for birdfeed. You've got more noise than you ever figured on in your life. On the upside, those seven pear trees are well fertilized.
I hope you like pears.
"On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Tell me... What are the maids milking? I don't see any cows, goats, sheep, or mammals of any kind in these gifts. I see fourteen justifiably skittish swans, eighteen geese fighting over nesting places, twenty calling birds I can't hear over the geese, eighteen french hens that you might just want to pluck and stuff for the holidays if only to make room, fourteen turtledoves who want to go somewhere with some peace they can be symbols of, and eight partridges afraid to leave their pair trees. None of them give milk!
Now, remembering that Christmas is a family holiday, what, exactly, are they milking?
"On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me nine ladies dancing eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Make sure these ladies know to dance with small, careful steps and not in their good shoes. And, forget about dancing to noise. The geese are the only thing that anybody can hear. Oh, wait, I hear something else. Among the twenty one swans, there are at least a couple males. Did you know that male swans fight for breeding rights over a harem of females? You do now because that's the only thing that could possibly be louder than the geese.
The sixteen poor maids can't even hear each other to ask what they're supposed to be a-milking.
"On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ten lords a leaping nine ladies dancing eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Lords a leaping? Let me think. What is the worst thing to do around ten partridges, eighteen turtle doves, twenty four french hens, twenty eight calling birds, thirty geese, and twenty eight swans? Leap around! That's it!
Wherever they land after a leap is not going to be pretty. And those pear trees aren't going to be able to support a full grown lord, so landing after leaping is inevitable.
Just how did your true love hire a bunch of landowning noblemen to leap around in the first place? Your true love must be seriously rich, just not rich enough to put up with the crazy.
"On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eleven pipers piping ten lords a leaping nine ladies dancing eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Music comes after the dancers and leapers? Isn't there something wrong with that?...
Never mind. It's not like anybody can hear them anyway. Any brief respite from the honking of goose and swan is bound to be filled with the wet splat of the landing of a lord that has leapt.
I just feel sorry for the pipers. Everybody else can at least hold their breath.
"On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me twelve drummers drumming eleven pipers piping ten lords a leaping nine ladies dancing eight maids a milking seven swans a swimming six geese a laying five gold rings four calling birds three french hens two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree."
Drummers. That is the perfect way to make a headache, already fed with a week and a half of mounting noise and bird crap, completely unbearable. Are you sure this is your true love? Sure, forty gold rings are nice, even if you have to have some of them cleaned after they're recovered.
Sure, maybe pears are your most perfect food. But, outside of that you've gotten a stinking opera to the tune of honk-splat-bang. This "true love" of yours may just be trying to drive you mad.
Whatever, if there's a thirteenth day of Christmas, don't accept anything but help cleaning up.
