The mistress of excuses

A charley horse is killing me, so I am dragging my left foot I cannot meet for lunch, for my face is full of dirty soot I am limping a little thanks to a torn meniscus on my knee You will have to have your church tea without little ole me Arthritis is crippling my fingers, so I cannot do quilting you see My eyes are doing poorly, so I cannot help with the spelling bee Baked goods are not possible, my oven is on the blink. I cannot bathe your baby; there is a cobra in my sink. I cannot meet you that day; I have an appointment I know. I despise giving you these excuses because I love you so. Maybe I could meet you next September for some dinner. I want to wait until then, in the hopes I might be thinner.