As notorious as our gales
Are the January sales,
Where you always – yes you do –
Find a bargain, if not two.
When an urge within you surge,
Your account you swiftly purge
(It’s now down to but a dime)
And have jolly, jolly time
Buying all that lovely stuff
Until husband says, “Enough!”
Then you wait, all tense and pale,
Till the February sale,
When you go, with joy and glee,
On another spending spree.
It’s now March – the sale is on,
Blimey, how the time has gone.
Then it’s April, May and June;
All those sales – oh, what a boon!
(Don’t you love the current trend
With the sales that never end?)
When your hubby grabs your purse,
You protest: “It could be worse:
If you think about it, honey,
I am saving lots of money!”
At which point, you hear a groan
And see hubby lying prone;
This prevents a likely scrape,
And you make your bold escape
With a ponder that goes thus:
Why can’t men be more like us?