Sneak away to cotton wool of quiet
Where verbiage is visual, thickened slurp
Upon a screen, (or paper’s always preferable),
It’s stealing time between each gulp and blurt,
Like weaning from the waifs that all are gathered,
No kidding, it’s like twisting with the crew that Ollie kept
(before he joined the rogues and Fagin’s chorus)
And held his plate for seconds (though unmet).
I figure at this rate that I’ll be plastered,
(with drink or effort or the two combined),
It’s early days for falling on the flooring
(but as long as fridge is full, they’ll step over, they won’t mind).
I wonder where they put it all, these grubbers,
(like orphaned foragers who’ve starved till I stepped in)
I really should be charging for this workhouse
(or at least for all the hangers-on they bring).
But, bugger it, they’re young and I’m an old fart,
(Moaning for the fun of moaning’s sake),
We do that you know, (while pushing zimmers),
It’s called prerogative (or some such take).
I really can’t complain, (they made the dinner,
But buggered up the menus I had planned),
See it, want it, eat it, (no questions),
It was delicious with the French bread (full of garlic, heavy hand).
It’s gone quiet now, (they’re off to their own rooms)
(At least, I think that’s where they’ve sneakily disappeared),
I’ve been excused for good behaviour (by hubby,
who’s now got his feet up in a chair)
Though very soon it’s pick-up for another,
He’s on that (cause I had Cabernet, a lovely wine)
Daughter back with cat, (no longer tiny kitten),
Poor dug will have a seizure (or maybe fine).
It’s the unexpected nature of the season
(Well, it feckin’ is, if you live here!)
Beds unrolled, (some couches unfold)
And counting heads, (maintaining all good cheer, sic).
Did you know that some wines are labelled 14%! (I didn’t.)
Swear to god and all his wee buddhas and helpers
(no offence to all wee buddhas and helpers)
I am such a light weight at times.
Two glasses is what I call a cheap date.
I blame all the work.
And then suddenly stopping.
Confuses the body.
And the mind. (Spirit still intact).
It’s not really Christmas Eve tomorrow,
is it?
I’ll probably do my damndest to escape to wordville over the season ( I call it maintaining sanity) but if I don’t (or even if I do) I hope you all have a lovely Christmas, Happy Holidays, Seasonal Fest.
Thank you all for reading over the year and all the lovely comments. It’s still such a pleasure to glimpse all your worlds. May the New Year be good to you. And all your dreams be blessed.
Anne-Marie x
scottishmomus 