Mother's Trip To California

We packed with care her special dress her just washed face showed heavy stress, she is, you know how mothers are, now in the air, her aim is far. Her son is getting truly hitched, a union ready to be stitched by thread of silk, so it will last forever gone a single's past! Two kittens, Hamilton and Conner will take their place and do the honour, to sprinkle things (let's hope it's flowers) throughout the house, at certain hours. From here, Down Under, it's a pity WE HAVE TO WORK, which is quite shitty, there's many dishes in the kitchen, the neighbours hear young Kevin bitchin' the water needs to be made hot inside that bloody coffeepot! Hair from the dogs drifts through the air and laundry items do want care, dogs do their thing not on command, (they act as if their food is bland) , and there are doors and windows too to keep the birds from turning blue. They shiver in their metal cages, instructions cover several pages, on how the washer operates and Kevin longs to see his mates. The moment work piles up he leaves which sees me ironing shirt sleeves. There may be something on TV but no one home to serve us tea or bring, to warm our bones and skin, some beer and even Gordon's Gin. If I remember, there's enough..... which fridge? This question may be tough. Too bad the dogs aren't trained to get our liquid spirits. Any pet ought not be left to egotism, it clashes with our narcissism. It's cold at night if we neglect to close all windows. We respect that Mother Nature can be frigid, her sheer determination rigid, so we are on a learning curve 10 days she's gone and who will SERVE two nearly starving men at home? They say that many roads reach Rome but when it comes to household chores when men must labour on all fours, to keep the germs from taking charge we need to hire us a Sarge and one industrious foreign maid who'd do the laundry, mop the slate and keep us spoiled, well-fed and pampered I ask you now, the one who tampered with what I'd call our status quo, he placed his boot on my big toe! I think we'll go to bed at eight that tactic may well cut the wait. Ten days is really something else by then a house with dogs and smells will certainly require more to reach the status from before. You said the fourteenth, is that right? It will be afternoon or night perhaps the place will look attractive we'll see about our interactive and well-considered short cut plan. We'll scrub the crusted frying pan splash vinegar on all the tiles while she is counting fly-by miles. But one important fact emerges: Next time she gets those travel urges we may just jeopardize the deal and introduce a different spiel. There is, and we admit it freely, a brilliant logic in this, really. Domestic chores are NOT for man, there ought to simply be a ban. A woman's place, it is ingrained, the Gods themselves would have ordained, that it is near the kitchen sink. Man's fingers do not fancy pink, and blisters on our hairy shins? Let's get our girls on VITAMINS!