Humor – December 26

The Twelve Thank-you Notes of Christmas  
(What could have happened with “The 12 Days of Christmas”)
Dec 25
My dearest darling Edward,
What a wonderful surprise has just greeted me! That sweet partridge, in
that lovely little pear-tree; what an enchanting, romantic, poetic
present! Bless you, and thank you.
Your deeply loving,
Dec. 26
Beloved Edward,
The two turtle-doves arrived this morning, and are cooing away in the
pear-tree as I write. I’m so touched and grateful!
With undying love, as always,
Dec. 27
My darling Edward,
You do think of the most original presents! Who ever thought of sending
anybody three French hens? Do they really come all the way from France?
It’s a pity we have no chicken coops, but I expect we’ll find some.
Anyway, thank-you so much; they’re lovely.
Your devoted,
Dec. 28
Dearest Edward,
What a surprise! Four calling birds arrived this morning. They are very
sweet, even if they do call rather loudly – they make telephoning almost
impossible – but I expect they’ll calm down when they get used to their
new home. Anyway, I’m very grateful, of course I am.
Love from Emily
Dec. 29
Dearest Edward,
The mailman has just delivered five most beautiful gold rings, one for
each finger, and all fitting perfectly! A really lovely present!
Lovelier, in a way, than birds, which do take rather a lot of looking
after. The four that arrived yesterday are still making a terrible row,
and I’m afraid none of us got much sleep last night. Mother says she
wants to use the rings to “wring” their necks. Mother has such a sense
of humour. This time she’s only joking, I think, but I do know what she
means. Still, I love the rings.
Bless you,
Dec. 30
Dear Edward,
Whatever I expected to find when I opened the front door this morning,
it certainly wasn’t six socking great geese laying eggs all over the
porch. Frankly, I rather hoped that you had stopped sending me birds.
We have no room for them, and they’ve already ruined the croquet lawn. I
know you meant well, but let’s call a halt, shall we?
Dec. 31
I thought I said NO MORE BIRDS. This morning I woke up to find no more
than seven swans, all trying to get into our tiny goldfish pond. I’d
rather not think what’s happened to the goldfish. The whole house seems
to be full of birds, to say nothing of what they leave behind them, so
please, please, stop!
Your Emily
Jan 1
Frankly, I prefer the birds. What am I to do with eight milkmaids? And
their cows! Is this some kind of a joke? If so, I’m afraid I don’t find
it very amusing.
Jan. 2
Look here, Edward,
This has gone far enough. You say you’re sending me nine ladies dancing.
All I can say is, judging from the way they dance, they’re certainly not
ladies. The village just isn’t accustomed to seeing a regiment of
shameless viragos, cavorting round the green, and it’s Mother and I who
get the blame. If you value our friendship, which I do (less and less),
kindly stop this ridiculous behaviour at once!
Jan 3
As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are prancing up and down
all over what used to be the garden, before the geese and the swans and
the cows got at it. Meanwhile the neighbours are trying to have us
evicted. I shall never speak to you again.
Jan 4
This is the last straw! You know I detest bagpipes! The place has now
become something between a menagerie and a madhouse, and a man from the
council has just declared it unfit for habitation. At least Mother has
been spared this last outrage; they took her away yesterday afternoon in
an ambulance to a home for the bewildered. I hope you’re satisfied.
Jan 5
Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to inform you that with
the arrival on her premises at 7:30 this morning of the entire
percussion section of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and several of
their friends, she has no course left open to her but to seek an
injunction to prevent you importuning her further. I am making
arrangements for the return of much assorted livestock.
I am, Sir, yours faithfully,
G. Creep
Attorney at law

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