December 25 is officially over , but I’m still thinking about Christmas songs .
You might recognize the song that goes, “on the first day of Christmas , my true love gave to me- a partridge in a pear tree.”
I don’t remember too much of the sing, but I’m going to change the words.
A lot.
My true love didn’t give me anything nice on the first day of Christmas .
Instead, for the first day of Christmas , this was my present from the city of Boston ;
A white Christmas , chills, a sore throat , coughing , sneezing , and wheezing .
While many people were ripping the covers off their presents, I was putting covers over my body.
I was shivering!
The rest of my “12” days of Christmas weren’t any different .
No, let me stop lying.
It went downhill from the first day of Christmas .
My second day of Christmas , I was on a Peter Pan Bus along with a few other people who were in the same shape that I was.
Most of us were wrapped up warmly, coughing , sneezing and freezing all the way from South Station Bus Terminal in Boston to Port Authority in “The Big Apple “.
(More on the Peter Pan bus ride to and from Boston in a later post.)
On my third day of Christmas , I didn’t have ladies dancing, there were no pipers piping, or lords a leaping.
I had doctors and nurses taking my temperature , my vital signs and doing xrays to make sure that I didn’t have pneumonia .
My “last” day of Christmas, day number four, was spent like days one thru three.
I’m under the covers except now I’m taking medicine and drinking lots of fluids.
There will be no five thru 12 days of Christmas because I just know it’s going to be like days one thru four, just saying.
I once wrote a post about my favorite holiday .
Christmas wasn’t it, and now I know why.
I didn’t get a partridge in a pear tree for the first day of Christmas or any of the other days of Christmas .
Instead , I got a box of tissues, chicken soup, orange juice, a blue surgical mask, and a bottle of cough syrup.
Merry Christmas to me!
