Getting the bird

Oh Jeff ... I love you too ... but ...

The birds have got to go.

I mean, seriously? The partridge in the pear tree, that was sweet. You remembered how I talked about Christmas when I was a kid, and that song, and all those memories. And really, I’ve no idea how you even managed to find a live partridge – you don’t get them in pet shops, right? – and persuaded it to stay perched in a rinky-dink little pear tree while you brought it round.

So yeah, I’m not ungrateful. That was legit a lovely thought and a beautiful gift.

But the rest? Come on! It’s been a week already! I sublet a room. Where am I going to put four calling birds, three French hens, and two turtle doves? I mean, it’s pretty and all, but it’s way short of practical.

And then five gold rings? We’ve been dating for like two weeks, Jeff! Feels like we had a nice casual vibe then suddenly, boom! Love bombing. It’s too much, seriously. And they keep coming. Geese, swans. Lucky I’m near the river, so they are gone to a better place.

I figure I know where this is going. Eight maids tomorrow. And if I’m right, you’re in big trouble. Ever heard of people trafficking? Trust me, the cops have. And they’ll hear a whole lot more about it if I open my curtains tomorrow morning and find United Dairies on my doorstep.

I’m done. Peace out, Jeff. But don’t call again.

* * * * *

Hat tip to Raymond G. Taylor for his unofficial challenge. I can't claim this as a wholly original idea, but after one Christmas concert too many I'm getting irrationally angry with the song!