On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me eight maids a’milking…
What are your intentions toward me? I hope not as strange as your courtship. The postman was here bright and early, at the crack of dawn, saying that these eight very large cows were accustomed to an early milking. Such a cacophony: the cattle lowing, the birds awakened and adding their bit, the milkmaids shouting to be heard! I’m accustomed to arising at a more reasonable time, and since your generous gifts have begun, I lie awake until the wee hours trying to solve these problems. Though Matilda made a cold poultice of milk to repair the shadows under my eyes, I hesitate now to ask you to come, not wanting you to see me at less than my best. Please call, Jonathan, and hurry, before I am overwhelmed by your generosity.