A partridge in an Airbnb

A partridge in an Airbnb

By mid-December, I start hearing “The 12 Days of Christmas” the same way I hear a smoke alarm with a low battery-familiar, slightly stressful, and guaranteed to make somebody holler. It’s everywhere: grocery store aisles, bank lobbies, and that one radio station that turns into a holly-jolly hostage situation after Thanksgiving. And every year I sing  “The Twelve Days of Christmas” like I know what I’m doing… right up until my brain blanks out a…