Christmas is fraught with odd traditions - eggnog and fruitcake spring immediately to mind - but perhaps none is more bewildering than the everlasting appeal of that monotonous dirge, "The Twelve Days of Christmas."
The only thing about this song that makes a whit of sense is its name, because 12 days approximates the time it takes to listen to the stupid thing.I say "listen" because under no circumstances should you actually try to sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas." The partridge-in-a-pear-tree part is easy enough to master, and some people with excellent memories - chess prodigies, perhaps, or possibly Trivial Pursuit champions - can make it all the way to the five-golden-rings part before their eyes begin to cross and little wisps of gray smoke start curling out of their ears.
But by the time the song reaches the nine-ladies-dancing part, everybody has abandoned all pretense of knowing the words and is merely hoping to survive to the end. Those audience members that have not toppled headfirst out of their chairs or wandered off to the bar start acquiring that thousand-yard stare that you sometimes see on the faces of returning POWs and high school English teachers.
To be fair, I should point out the positive side of "Twelve Days." Its powerful hypnotic effect is ideal for those who are trying to quit smoking and it is also a safe and reliable means of birth control. While the long-term effects of "Twelve Days" are unknown, anecdotal evidence suggests that the song can lead to chronic forgetfulness, which could explain why certain people recall the Reagan administration so fondly.
This is probably as good a time as any to deal with those of you who think that "The Little Drummer Boy" is a more monotonous song than "The Twelve Days of Christmas."
I will concede that the signature "rum-pum-pum-pum" of "The Little Drummer Boy" is so mind-numbing that even Moonies cannot stand to listen to it for more than a few minutes at a time. Call me overprotective, but I wouldn't have let the annoying little urchin anywhere near the manger for fear his drum chant would stampede the barnyard animals.
But once you get past the "rum-pum-pum-pum" part, "The Little Drummer Boy" is relatively innocuous, and, most important of all, quickly over. Whereas "The Twelve Days of Christmas" lasts longer than some presidential administrations and tells a story that can most charitably be described as insane.
While I understand that love can make people do crazy things, what kind of person delivers six geese-a-laying to anyone for any purpose other than a cruel prank? Imagine being chased around your condo by half a dozen hissing, honking, she-geese trying to protect their nests? Then, assuming you weren't pecked to death, you'd eventually have to deal with a couple of dozen baby geese, few of which come into the world with much in the way of potty training. I don't know about you, but wrangling with the Health Department is not my idea of a relaxing holiday.
Throw in your nine ladies dancing and eight maids-a-milking and who-knows-how many lords, pipers, drummers, chickens and swans engaged in who-knows-what kind of activity and you've got a situation akin to Daytona Beach at spring break.
Go through this a couple of times and you'll never complain about an ugly Christmas tie again, I guarantee.