Well, as you probably have noticed, my ability to produce amusing stories for you has been severely limited as of late. Now, I know it would seem that if I put down the television remote and the fancy box of chocolates, I would have all the time in the world to regale you with bon mots. Not so. I am in fact busy as hell, and while I frequently have "post to blog" on the to-do list, it is the one thing that consistently is sacrificed to the rest of the banal chores and errands. Top it all off with last week's family escape to Walt Disney World for Thanksgiving, and even you can admit that I might have had a thing or two more pressing than typing up 1,000 words to delight you.
But hey, it's the holiday season. Who doesn't want a little treat or two or twelve? So, my plan is to share a few vignettes from Thanksgiving, the week of S's Nutcracker practice, or whatever else happens between now and the anniversary of the birth of Your Savior. That's right; I will attempt to have something coherent and hopefully funny to say twelve times in the next twenty-five days. On no particular subject, and in no particular order, but what do you want, exactly? It's free, and if you have an iPad, you are probably reading it on the toilet anyway (yes, MJ, I do mean you).
Let's start with the twelve days of Christmas, shall we? If I gave a shit, and I don't, I would Google why twelve days, and what's with all the birds and servants? Sounds like a medieval feast to me, which might explain the almost fortnight part of the song. And you know those folks were drinking their fair share of mead, ale, and grog. Maybe "The Twelve Days of Christmas" is really a drinking song. It's the "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" of the holiday season, both because of its length and because no sober person wants to sing it the whole way through.
This morning, in between brushing teeth and tying shoelaces, my daughter S and I, who both enjoy singing to our crazy cats, created our new version of "The Twelve Days." I have no doubt that at one time or another, every household in America has come up with its own lyrics to this holiday classic that delight them and perhaps even make singing that God-awful song more bearable. Today's version involved replacing certain words with the word "cat."
It went something like this:
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a cat stuck in a pear tree.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, two turtle cats...
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, three French cats....
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, four calling cats...
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, five golden cats...
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six cats a'laying...
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...
Actually, we didn't go any further with it. I couldn't remember how many cats were leaping and milking and laying and a'swimming, and it was time to go to school, and we weren't drinking, so we kind of fizzled out. Even the cats grew tired of the song and walked out of the bathroom, where all good singing takes place, as you know.
Sometimes, when we sing to the cats and we can't remember the words, we just meow instead of humming. We do it often enough that I find myself meowing along while grocery shopping or at the Home Depot. Cats aren't even allowed in those stores, unless they are seeing eye cats, which are very difficult to train.
It gives new meaning to crazy cat lady, huh?
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