Just in time for the holidays, this batch should keep you
snickering into the next millenium -- whether you believe it to start
in 2000 or 2001.

(a classic from the archives, updated for the age of E-mail)

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 14

My dearest darling John:

Where on earth did you find a real partridge in a pear tree?
Thank you a hundred times!

All my love forever,

Lydia

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 15

Dearest John:

I received your sweet gift. Imagine: two turtle doves!
They're adorable. Thanks again!

Love always,

Lydia

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 16

Dear John:

Aren't you the extravagant one. I don't deserve such
generosity, three French hens!

Love,

Lydia

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 17

Dear John:

Today I got the four calling birds. Now really, they're
beautiful, but isn't that a bit too romantic?

Affectionately,

Lydia

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 18

Dearest John:

What a surprise. Today the UPS delivered five golden rings,
one for every finger. Just in time, as those birds squawking
were starting to get on my nerves, and I was beginning to wonder
about you!

Love,

Lydia

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 19

Dear John:

When I opened the door today there were six geese laying on my
front steps. So you're back to the birds again? These

geese are huge. Where will I ever keep them? The
neighbors are complaining. Please stop.

Cordially,

Lydia

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 20

John:

What's with you and freaking birds?? Seven swans a swimming.
What kind of joke is this? There's bird poop
everywhere. I can't sleep at night and I'm a nervous wreck.
It's not funny. So stop!

Lydia

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 21

O.K. Buster:

What the hell am I going to do with 8 maids a milking? It's
not enough with all those birds - they had to bring
their cows! There's manure everywhere and I can't move in my
own house. Just lay off, smartass.

Lydia

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 22

Hey Bonehead:

What are you...some kind of sadist? Now there's nine pipers
playing - and I mean playing! They haven't stopped chasing
those maids since they got here. The cows are upset and
they're stepping all over those screeching birds. What am I
going to do? The neighbors want me evicted. What were
you thinking?!

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 23

You rotten jerk:

Now there's ten ladies dancing. I don't know why I say
"ladies." They've been fooling around with those pipers all
night long. Now the cows can't sleep and they've got
diarrhea. The Commissioner of Buildings has subpoenaed me to
give cause why the building shouldn't be condemned. I'm
calling the police on you.

From: Lydia Zeltow <[email protected]>

Date: December 24

Listen you "#$%&*^#"

Great - now there's eleven lords a leaping on those maid and
ladies. All twenty-three of the birds have been trampled to
death in the orgy. The pipers have even started getting the
cows into the action. I hope you're satisfied, you rotten
vicious swine!!!

Your sworn enemy

From: Harrison Burnsley, Esq. <[email protected]>

Date: December 25

Dear Sir:

This is to acknowledge your latest gift of twelve fiddlers fiddling
which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, Ms. Lydia Zeltow.
The destruction of her property and peace of mind was, of
course, total. All correspondence should come to our
attention. Should you attempt to locate or contact Ms. Zeltow
at the sanitarium where she now resides, the attendants have been
instructed to have you arrested on sight.

Twas the night before Christmas

And all around my hips

Were Fanny May candies

That sneaked past my lips.

Fudge brownies were stored

In the freezer with care

In hopes that my thighs

Would forget they were there.

While Mama in her girdle

And I in chin straps

Had just settled down

To sugar-borne naps.

When out in the pantry

There arose such a clatter

I sprang from my bed

To see what was the matter?

Away to the kitchen

I flew like a flash

Tore open the icebox

Then threw up the sash

The marshmallow look

Of the new-fallen snow

Sent thoughts of a binge

To my body below.

When what to my wandering

Eyes should appear:

A marzipan santa

With eight chocolate reindeer!

That huge chunk of candy

So luscious and slick

I knew in a second

That I'd wind up sick.

The sweet-coated santa,

Those sugared reindeer

I closed my eyes tightly

But still I could hear;

On Pritzker, on Stillman,

On weak one, on TOPS

A Weight Watcher dropout

From sugar detox.

From the top of the scales

To the top of the hall

Now dash away pounds

Now dash away all.

Dressed up in Lane Bryant

From my head to nightdress

My clothes were all bulging

From too much excess

My droll little mouth

And my round little belly

They shook when I laughed

Like a bowl full of jelly

I spoke not a word but

Went straight to my work

Ate all of the candy

Then turned with a jerk.

And laying a finger

Beside my heartburn

I gave a quick nod

Toward the bedroom I turned

I eased into bed,

To the heavens I cry

If temptation's removed

I'll get thin by and by.

And I mumbled again

As I turned in for the night

In the morning I'll starve..

'Till I take that first bite!

Author Unknown

'Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house

Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.

The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste

At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!

When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).

I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared;

The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,

The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese

And the way I'd never said, "No thank you, please."

As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt

And prepared once again to do battle with dirt.

I said to myself, as I only can

"You can't spend a winter disguised as a man!"

So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,

Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished

Till all the additional ounces have vanished.

I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.

I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.

I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,

I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.

I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore,

But isn't that what January is for?

Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.

Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

I rarely ask for much. This year is no exception. I
don't need diamonds, earrings, handy slicer-dicers or comfy
slippers. I only want one little thing, and I want it
deeply. I want to slap Martha Stewart. Now, Hear me out
Santa. I won't scar her or draw blood or
anything. Just one good smack, right across her smug little
cheek. I get all cozy inside just thinking about it.

Don't grant this wish just for me, do it for thousands of women
across the country. Through sheer vicarious satisfaction,
you'll be giving a gift to us all. Those of us leading
average, garden variety lives aren't concerned with gracious
living. We feel pretty good about ourselves if our paper
plates match when we stack them on the counter, buffet-style for
dinner. We're tired of Martha showing us how to make
centerpieces from hollyhock dipped in 18 carat gold. We're
plumb out of liquid gold, unless it's of the furniture polish
variety. We can't whip up Martha's creamy holiday sauce,
spiced with tumeric. Most of us can't even say tumeric,
let alone figure out what to do with it.

OK, Santa, maybe you think I'm being a little harsh. But
I'll bet with all the holiday rush you didn't catch that interview
with Martha in last week's USA Weekend. I'm surprised there
was enough room on the page for her ego. We discovered that
not only does Martha avoid take-out pizza, (she's only ordered it
once), she refuses to eat it cold. (No cold pizza? Is
Martha Stewart Living??). When it was pointed out that she
could microwave it, she replied, "I don't have a microwave."
The reporter, Jeffrey Zaslow, noted that she said this "in
a tone that suggests you shouldn't either." Well,
lah-dee-dah.

Imagine that, Santa! That lovely microwave you brought
me years ago, in which I've learned to make complicated dishes
like popcorn and hot chocolate, has been declared undesirable by
Queen Martha. What next? The coffee maker?

In the article, we learned that Martha has 40 sets of dishes
adorning an entire wall in her home. Forty sets! Can
you spell "overkill"? And neatly put away, no less. If
my dishes make it to the dishwasher, that qualifies as 'put away'
in my house!

Martha tells us she's already making homemade holiday gifts for
friends. "Last year I made amazing silk-lined scarves for
everyone," she boasts. Not just scarves, mind you, 'amazing
scarves'. Martha's obviously not shy about giving herself a
little pat on the back. In fact, she does so with such
frequency, that one has to wonder if her back is black and
blue.

She goes on to tell us that "homemaking is glamour for the
90's", and says her most glamorous friends are "interested in
stain removal, how to iron a monogram, and how to fold a
towel." I have one piece of advice Martha: "Get new
friends." Glamorous friends fly to Paris on a
whim. They drift past the Greek Islands on yachts, sipping
champagne from crystal goblets. They step out for the evening
in shimmering satin gowns, whisked away by tuxedoed
chauffeurs. They do not spend their days pondering the finer
art of toilet bowl sanitation.

Zaslow notes that Martha was named one of America's 25 most
influential people by Time magazine (nosing out Mother Theresa,
Madeline Allbright and Maya Angelou, no doubt). The proof of
Martha's influence: After she bought white-fleshed peaches in
the supermarket, Martha says, "People saw me buy them. In an
instant, they were all gone." I hope Martha never decides to
jump off a bridge.

A guest in Martha's home told Zaslow how Martha gets up early
to rollerblade with her dogs to pick fresh wild blackberries for
breakfast. This confirms what I've suspected about Martha all
along: She's obviously got too mush time on her
hands. Teaching dogs to rollerblade. What a show
off. If you think the dogs are spoiled, listen to how
Martha treats her friends: She gave one friend all 272 books
from the Knopf Everyman Library. It didn't cost much, pocket
change, really. Just $5,000. But what price friendship,
right?

When asked if others should envy her, Martha replies, "Don't
envy me, I'm doing this because I'm a natural teacher. You
shouldn't envy teachers. You should listen to
them." Zaslow must have slit a seam in Martha's ego at this
point, because once the hot air came hissing out, it couldn't be
held back. "Being an overachiever is nothing despicable. It
is only admirable. Never lower your standards," says
Martha. And of her Web Page on the internet, Martha declares
herself an 'important presence' as she graciously helps people
organize their sad, tacky little lives.

There you have it Santa. If there was ever someone who
deserved a good smack, it's Martha Stewart. But I bet I
won't get my gift this year. You probably want to smack her
yourself!

Please accept with no obligation, implied or expressed, my best
wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low
stress, non addictive, gender neutral, celebration of the holiday¹
of your choice on or about the winter solstice, practiced within
the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion or
secular practices of your choice, with respect for the
religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, or their
choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all, and
a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling, and medically
uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted
calendar year 2000, but not without due respect for the calendars
of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have
helped to make America great (not to imply that America is greater
than any other country or is the only "America" in the western
hemisphere) and without regard to the race, creed, color, age,
physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the
wishee.

[sign here]

Notice, Disclaimer and Conditions of Greeting:

• By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms.
• This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal.
• It is freely transferable, provided there is no alteration to
  the original greeting, and is void where prohibited by law,
  and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher.
• There is no promise by the wisher, express or implied, to
  actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself
  or others.
• This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the
  usual application of good tidings for a period of one year,
  or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting,
  whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement
  of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion
  of the wisher.

¹ As used herein, "holiday" is limited to its secular meaning,
without regard to its English language derivation from the words
"holy day".