You Suck at Gifting, Sir.

True Love,

My understanding is that you will be showering me with gifts this month. 

Um, no. Let's break it down.

Day One: Partridge, with pears. This is fine.

Day Two: Turtledoves, roasted. Check.

Day Three: I'm getting a little parched from all the fancy food.

Day Four: Calling birds are a little mouthy. So, squirrels instead.

(I have a score to settle with the tall one)

Day Five: What the hell am I going to do with jewelry?

These are round and golden. If the bacon isn't crispy I'm sending you packing.

Day Six:You lack imagination with all the poultry, but perfectly acceptable.

Day Seven: AAAAHHHH!!! PASS.

Day Eight: Steak on the hoof. Keep the broad.

Day Nine: Clearly you don't know me at all.

Day Ten: Whatever. I'll regift him to Mother.

Day Eleven: WHAT A RACKET. 

If I want a bunch of drunken men with accents in the house 

I'll send Mother to the Irish festival with a tip jar and a pole. Skip Day Eleven.

Day Twelve: I'M STARTING TO THINK THIS ISN'T ABOUT ME ANYMORE.

Signed,

Serafina