The Seventh Day of Christmas

With only, let’s see, five (wait, six? having trouble counting!) days left before Christmas actually hits, I began to freak out. I needed a seriously good present for my true love, but I had not done one iota of Christmas shopping. (Not that this was any sort of big departure from the norm, of course.)

Oh wait. I’m sorry, I did in fact do one little iota. I went shopping the other day, but apparently all I could find was a pothole. While I’m sure my true love would graciously accept anything at all I cared to give him, just like any other guy would (right, guys? right, ladies?), I was concerned about this particular gift. Its intangibility was not in its favor, to begin with.

So that meant I had to go back to the drawing board, otherwise known as—the mall.

I sighed. Deeply. Tragically. Exasperatedly.

I have a love-hate relationship with the mall, if by “love-hate” you mean “hate” and if by “relationship” you mean “not remotely on speaking terms.” And never do my emotions reach such a zenith as at the Christmas season.

I mean, how could one not adore driving around endlessly looking for a non-existent parking space in a vast, several-storied concrete wasteland? How could one not be joyous while getting jostled and bumped by countless harried shoppers as they dash through stores leaving chaos and cranky clerks behind?

Of course, the answer to both of those questions is, "With amazing ease." But frankly, time was running out to order anything online, and I was getting desperate. I knew I wanted to get something really good, really amazing, really different for my beloved. But what?

I considered whale barf, but changed my mind. Quickly. (Anyway, I don't think they carry it at the mall.)

As I sat at my kitchen table racking my beleaguered brains for other ideas, I heard a noise outside. It sounded like something splashing in my pool. I jumped up and ran out to the backyard, just in time to see six huge swans land in the water, joining the one who was already there, paddling around as if it owned the place.

I noticed that there was a little jingle bell and piece of holly hanging around each of their necks, tied with a silver ribbon.

Were they a gift from my true love? Or should I call pest control?

Thankfully I didn’t have to wonder too long, because one of them cleared its throat and said, “Sorry for the dramatic entrance. We were supposed to arrive last night to surprise you in the morning. Your true love gave us directions but, well, we took a little detour and..."

“Detour! You mean we got lost!” snapped another swan.

“Mere semantics,” said the first swan loftily. The other swans laughed in what I couldn't help but think was a mocking tone. I stared at them all, stunned.

“I’m sorry,” I said, addressing myself to the first swan. “I’m a little concerned that I may be hallucinating. Did you... say something just now?”

“Of course not,” it said. “Swans can’t talk. Everyone knows that.”

"So I am hallucinating?"

"Not at all," said the swan. "You're just imagining things."

“Oh good,” I said in a relieved voice, and started back to the house, when the swan called out, "Wait a minute!"

"Yes?" I asked, turning around.

"I almost forgot to give you this," and he arched his beautiful neck and plucked a rolled piece of paper under his wing. "This is from your true love. But," he winked, "you didn't hear it from me."

"Hear what?" I said, and went back into the house, where I read the note. It said:

Birds of a feather
Show my love forever...

Ok, so it wasn't his best poetic moment. But the sentiment was very sweet. I had to smile.

However, the problem of what to get my true love remained; it had unfortunately not gone away while I was having my little metaphysical debate at the pool. Whereas he had just symbolized his undying love with a flock of seven swans a-swimming!

In other words, my true love was waaaay ahead of me in the "creative gifts" department.

I groaned. What was I going to do??