Twas two days before Christmas when all through the house, the Rum Balls were made, the mommy was soused.
The stockings were flung to the floor with no care,
in hopes that a maid, soon would be there.
I felt not like cooking, see my sad bunioned feet,
So to Sonic we flew, so we could all eat.
A foot long chili dog, some onion rings to boot
I knew then and there, they’d give me the scoots.
Dash away home, Fiddledaddy, fly like the wind,
Cut off all those cars, an apology I’ll send.
At last we are home, Pepto Bismol in hand,
I tuck in the children, before the floor will I land.
The begged and they pleaded, just a few minutes more,
“No way,” did I mutter, as I fast close the door.
I settle in my room, my computer I hold,
I’m exhausted, and spent, I type in all bold.
When out in the kitchen, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my hotpad, to see what was the matter.
Rum Balls were scattered, my gasp made him jump,
Fiddledaddy looked guilty, I helped him clean up.
The house is now quiet, the parents are pooped,
We set up the clocks, the children were duped.
We look at each other, it all seems just right, I sigh as I say,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.”