The Twelve Days After Christmas

By Anne Spear <>

Rated: PG

Submitted: November, 2003

Summary: Clark's attempts to invoke some Christmas spirit slowly drive Lois insane in this Christmas Carol Challenge Vignette.

Author's Notes: This story was written in response to LabRat's Christmas Carol challenge on the messageboards (see;f= 3;t=000153).

The song was one we used to sing in high school chorus and I'm hoping to get the extra points for obscurity. The lyrics are at the end of the story.

Much, much thanks to LabRat for editing this mess.


December 26, 1994

"What were you thinking?!" Lois chided into the phone.

"Well, I know how you feel about Christmas," Clark tried to explain, "and I just wanted to show you that it can still be wonderful and magical and…"

"But what possessed you to think that I'd want milking maids in my living room? Do you realize how much stuff those lords have already broken?! What were you *thinking*?!" Before he could answer, she continued her ranting. "No, I'll tell you…you *weren't* thinking."

"Lois, I'm so sorry. I just thought that recreating your favorite holiday song was a good way to bring back the joy of Christmas."

"What made you think that it's my favorite song?"

"Well, you always seem to be humming it."

"That's because I hear it every time I turn around and it just got stuck in my head. By Thanksgiving, we get bombarded by Christmas and there's no way to avoid it. I have to go now. I think one of the geese just laid an egg on my bed."

"Should I come over and…"

"No," she interrupted angrily. "You better stay away…unless you *want* to get hit over the head with a pear tree."

Lois slammed the phone down and started to sit on the sofa. She jumped back up when she heard a screech and realized that she'd nearly sat on a turtledove. "Who in their right mind," she thought out loud.

Sighing, she turned slowly around to survey the chaos of her apartment and saw the partridge pulling the stuffing out of her favorite pillow. "That's it! *That* is the last straw!!" She stomped over to the hall closet and started rummaging around in boxes until she found the hatchet Ralph had given her last year as a joke. She walked directly to the small tree by the window and started hacking into the two-inch trunk. As the top of the tree hit the floor, Lois let out a holler of joy.

'I guess Clark's plan worked…in a way,' she thought as she proceeded to cut the tree into smaller pieces, tossing them into the fireplace.

On her way back to the closet, she saw the dreaded partridge again and knew she couldn't let its offense go unpunished any longer. She replaced the hatchet and retrieved her old BB gun. She remembered how her father bought her the gun right after "A Christmas Story" was released. Granted, she was a bit of a tomboy, but she had never wanted a BB gun! Now, she was immensely thankful for the weapon. Still standing next to the closet, she turned and took careful aim. With one shot, the hated bird fell onto the sofa, a small bit of pillow fluff in its beak. That accomplished, she replaced the BB gun, closed the closet door, grabbed her coat and left the apartment in search of chocolate.


December 27, 1994

Lois awoke Tuesday morning with bags under her eyes. She'd hardly got any sleep the night before due to the *constant* cooing of those stupid turtledoves. They'd seemed so adorable at first, but now she was ready to strangle something. Without conscious thought, she reached under the kitchen sink and found the gloves she used when she went on a major cleaning binge. She found one dove, then the other and before she realized what had happened, both were lying on the kitchen table. She took the gloves off on her way back to her bedroom and smiled at the blissful silence.


December 28, 1994

Wednesday morning, Lois answered the phone and almost didn't recognize her mother's voice. "You sound terrible," she told her.

"Gee, thanks," Ellen answered sarcastically. "I can't bewieve I caught such a bad cold right after Cwristmas. And the market is completely out of chicken soup!"

"Don't worry," Lois told her, eyeing the French hens, "I have just the right ingredients for Lucy to make you some."

Suddenly, the calling birds started, well calling, but in language that would make a sailor blush. "What was that?" Ellen exclaimed.

"Uh, the television," Lois improvised. She really wasn't in the mood to explain all of this to her mother right now. [right then]

"That just shows the horrible state of our society when that sort of thing can be heard in the middle of the day." As Lois tuned her mother out and let her rant, she glanced down at the ring on her finger. She'd decided to try on the nicest of the five gold rings earlier today and now she noticed that her finger around it was a lovely shade of chartreuse. She managed to get the ring off and flung it across the room.


December 31, 1994

By Saturday morning, the remaining gifts were still in Lois' apartment. She'd actually decided to keep the geese, at least for a while, because she was enjoying fresh eggs every morning. As she reached for today's crop, she was surprised to find that not one of the geese had produced anything during the night. She reached for the phone and dialed 411. "Hi, I'd like the number for the ASPCA."


January 1, 1995

Lois walked into her bathroom and screamed. All seven swans were floating in the tub.


January 2, 1995

Lois was determined that this was the last day she would deal with those stupid gifts. She called a courier company and requested they send a very large truck. Once they'd packed all the remaining items into the truck, the driver started to hand her a bill.

"Oh no," she stopped him. "The receiver will be paying for this. Could you also give him a note from me?" The driver nodded and handed her a clipboard and pen. On the bill, she wrote the following:

"Dear Clark,

Your Christmas gifts are for the birds!"


The lyrics as promised:

*The first day after Christmas my true love and I had a fight,

And so I chopped the pear tree down and burned it just for spite.

Then with a single cartridge, I shot that blasted partridge,

My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me.*

*The second day after Christmas, I pulled on the old rubber gloves,

And very gently wrung the necks of both the turtle doves.

My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me.*

*The third day after Christmas, my mother caught the croup;

I had to use the three French hens to make some chicken soup.

The four calling birds were a big mistake, for their language was obscene.

The five gold rings were completely fake and they turned my fingers green.*

*The sixth day after Christmas, the six laying geese wouldn't lay,

I gave the whole darn gaggle to the A.S.P.C.A.*

*On the seventh day what a mess I found,

All seven of the swimming swans had drowned.

My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me.*

*The eighth day after Christmas, before they could suspect,

I bundled up the eight maids a milking, nine pipers

piping, Ten ladies dancing, 'leven lords a leaping,

Twelve drummers drumming and sent them back collect.

I wrote my true love, "We are through, love",

and I said in so many words,

"Furthermore your Christmas gifts were for the birds!"*