May be sung very loosely to the tune of Twelve Days of Christmas
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A lovely kiss that came packaged with a sneaky head cold.
On the second day of Christmas my calendar gave to me: A meeting where I wasn’t needed, but I didn’t find out until I got there, stuffing tissue up my nose, while I quietly spread my plague, through the accoutrements of this common head cold.
On the third day of Christmas my meeting gave to me: More work than I needed, putting me way behind in my holiday shopping, while I still cough, sneeze and feel terrible, I wish I felt like doing something , anything…if only I didn’t have this head cold.
On the fourth day of Christmas my shopping gave to me: Only enough energy to shop online for all, after I try in vain to finish all my work, I’m feeling a bit feverish, the monitor is blurring before me, if I only could stop sneezing, I really hate all this coughing, I’m going to swear off
kissing, because that’s how I got this lousy head cold.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my online adventures gave to me: a mass of confirmation emails that send my inbox over quota, an alarmed call from the credit card company, a headache from all this coughing, oh boy I finished one project out of twenty, and I just can’t seem to kick this head cold.
On the sixth day of Christmas my fever haze gave to me: A load of Christmas gifts on my doorstep (didn’t I ship those elsewhere?), the stack of work that just keeps growing, if only I could have a little nap, I feel like I’m slowly dying, all from this irritating head cold.
On the seventh day of Christmas my creditors gave to me: The option for more credit, in case there was more holiday shopping, spam from online stores I’ve never heard of, a phone call from our holiday pet-sitter, saying they can’t pet-sit, the cold vacating my head for my lungs, another headache from coughing, sigh…I’d feel so much better if I could just kick this cough from the lousy head cold.
On the eighth day of Christmas my cough has given me: Sleepless nights that send me to the ER where I snagged some dopey cough syrup, oh great I have bronchitis, the pharmacy charges forty dollars for a tiny bottle of medical miracle, but I went home and drank it anyway, only to find it didn't work, now how am I supposed to sleep, I'm tired of the couch, and all this from that annoying head cold?
The ninth through the twelfth days of Christmas are a fuzzy haze: the details are a little sketchy, it’s all because of the cough syrup that started with a kiss and that led to a lousy head cold, and yet I'm still coughing, nothing seems to work, I'm still spending time on the couch, now I've got an inhaler, I wish it would all go away, I'm feeling really sorry for myself, uh oh Peter's coming for a kiss, and I'm afraid he'll give me another head cold.
