More Snow Melt

Prompt #1: Dec. 21, 2009

My response to the first prompt in the Frontliners 12 Day of blogging contest, which is blogging about the song The 12 Days of Christmas

Love during the 12 Days of Christmas

“It’s harassment!” Lana, who was wearing forty gold rings, glared across the desk at her lawyer.

“That very well may be, Miss Carter,” Esq. William Jones said, trying not to laugh, “however, it is the Christmas season and these are the traditional presents a man is supposed to send to his true love. I don’t think…”

“Mr. Jones,” Lana ground her teeth in frustration, “Rodger is harassing and possibly attempting to kill me.”

“I don’t think we can prove either charge, Miss Carter.”

“Mr. Jones, Rodger knows I’m allergic to feathers, pears and oversensitive to noise; perhaps he’s trying to drive me crazy.”

He doesn’t have far to go on that, thought William. “Look, Miss…”

“Mr. Jones, in my front yard there are twelve pear trees each containing a partridge making partridge noises. In my backyard there are twenty-two turtledoves cooing. On one side of my house, there are thirty French hens clucking and on the other side thirty-six calling birds are singing.” At this point Lana broke into tears.

“Have a tissue, Miss Carter,” William opened the bottom draw of his desk, took out a large pink box of facial tissues and handed it to Lana. “And calm down.”

“Calm… You want me to be calm when I have forty-two geese on my enclosed patio laying eggs.” Lana blew her noise and dropped the tissue onto blue plush carpet. “I haven’t even gotten to the forty-two swans swimming in my swimming pool or the forty milk maids milking forty cows in my garage.”

“Please, Miss Carter,” Esq. Jones took a wire wastebasket from beneath his desk and gave it to Lora, “put the tissue in the wastebasket.”

“You’re not taking me seriously, Mr. Jones,” she picked up the tissue and placed it in the ashtray on his desk. “I can assure you, I’m quite serious. I have thirty-six ladies dancing in my living room, thirty lords leaping over my bed, twenty-two pipers piping in my dining room and twelve drummer drumming in my kitchen. The neighbors are complaining of the noise and the city is charging me with keeping farm animals without a license. I want something done immediately!”

“Very well,” he got up from his desk, walked to his office door, opened it and walked out of the room. “Miss Halas,” William said to his office manager, “could you call Dr. Morton, I believe I have one of his patients in my office.”

“Dr. Morton closed his office early, Mr. Jones. His wife and son are in the emergency room; apparently a flock of French hens attacked them as they took their morning walk.”