One turtle, one dove, that's it.

It's the second day of Christmas! So if all you good little girls and boys didn't get a sack of gifts at least twice as big as the one from last night, it means you turned naughty overnight. That, or nobody loves you. In fact, probably that one, since hey... let's face it... just look at you. Sorry, man, but I speak only the truth. Have fun dying alone!

So, yeah. Anyone else ramped up for this upcoming fortnight? Anyone else think that they use the word 'fortnight' more often than they should? Also, 'ramped up'? Is that slang even accurate? Maybe it's from the eighties... maybe. I don't know. Whatever. Listen, the point I was vaguely ambulating towards was as follows: the twelve days of Christmas form a rather convenient countdown towards January fifth. And January fifth is a big day. No, I mean a BIG day. As in, those drummers ain't drummin' for the hell of it. And yes, it's drummers, I looked it up. I wanted it to be the lords on the twelfth, but no such luck. You can't work comedy with drummers, unless maybe you're Spinal Tap. Now, when folks are a-leaping, that's gold, baby. But no, that's the tenth, which is to say, the third. Oh, well, you'll just have to wait. I'm gonna keep a running countdown on the situation for no real reason.

So yeah. My true love has evidently given me a breeding pair of exotic birds. Just what I need, squawking and guano and soon enough, babies to feed. And I don't have a cage or anything, either, and these damn things aren't staying put in that pear tree. Well, thanks babe! Way better than a new shirt, surely. Truly, I feel loved.