Monday, February 16, 2015

Crochet Love Can Be Fickle



I spent hours on those cookies,
Weeks on that gift.
He got me a poker set,
And took me out for chips and dip.

I asked his mom, what food he liked,
Then took a class on how to cook it just right.
I went to that special bakery, all the way across town.
Just for the croissants he likes, you know, the upside down frowns.

He got me a card, probably last night.
He forgot to sign it, and there was no gift, no nothing, now I'm itching for a fight.

I mean, who does that? Seriously, not even a real gift?
It's not like I'm all that picky, but poker wasn't it.
I don't even play, nor do I want to learn,
He just got it for himself, the whole thing makes my blood churn.

I'm not buying ice cream for him anymore!
And no more last minute strips to the store.
No food in the house?
Poor baby, eat a mouse!

[I'm sure he really thought she'd like the poker, don't you?]

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