A Rewarded Plea
For two weeks my wife has nagged
at me to mow the grass.
“Two weeks!” I said, “That can’t be right,”
but time does quickly pass.
So to get back in her good books,
I had to make a solemn vow,
that I will mow the grass tomorrow,
because I’m watching telly now.
She mumbled something ‘neath her breath
like I’ve often heard her do,
and I gather that she called me lazy
between the odd choice word or two.
But a bloke is entitled to unwind
by relaxing with the TV.
I just wish she’d get up off her backside
and start preparing me tea.
To drop a hint I pushed on the remote,
flicked the telly on to S-B-S,
because I know the programs on there
to the wife don’t really impress.
But the program that’s currently aired,
is deemed as a medical show
where the patients are on life support …
kept alive and don’t even know.
I said to me dear darling wife
indicating on to the screen,
“I don’t want to live in a vegetable state,
dependent upon a machine.”
So without one word she stood up.
I thought she was gunna get tea,
but she walked the opposite way,
and unplugged the bloody TV.
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