When I was a girl, every year, I’d have to listen to how much my mom hated what I called “the partridge in a pear tree song.”
I liked it because there was a certain sort of hilarity about the poor father of the bride-to-be’s house becoming a zoo with every passing day, the birds becoming shriller, the French hens becoming smellier, et cetera.
So, one Christmas, when I was a Brownie Girl Scout, I was excited to be part of the chorus, until I realized I was stuck with the stupid hens. I didn’t want to be something people ate–I wanted to be the beautiful turtle doves or the graceful ladies dancing, so I was a bit pissy about the whole thing, feeling that I’d been insulted.
Of course, it’s all so silly now, but back then, it was as important as earning the circle patch (rather than the triangle) for selling 100 boxes of cookies.
I’d thought about writing a “Suddern” version of the carol, but then, I just googled and found out Jeff Foxworthy had already done a redneck one. So, I just based my version on what I would qualify as “filthy Santa gifts.” (This, coming from the girl who regifted Maxi pads because she was into extreme couponing at the time.)
Even my mom might appreciate this one.
The 12 Days of Merry’s Hard Candy Christmas
On the 12th day of Christmas,
my not-so-true love gave to me:
12 orange creams re-melting,
11 gifts a-regifting,
10 gift certs expiring,
9 stockings un-stuffing,
8 fruitcakes a-turning,
7 cactuses a-dying,
6 socks un-mating,
5 tarnishing rings,
4 ornaments a-shattering,
3 ugly sweaters unraveling,
2 missionaries a-tracting,
& a Christmas letter from his new wife.