At my mother-in-law's holiday party. |
It’s the pangs of a diet all due to my waist; there are so many goodies that I should not taste. Yet my mother-in-law gives a party this eve in the spirit of Christmas with joy to achieve. So I’m here at the buffet and what can I do? If I cede to my wants then more waist will accrue. But my mother-in-law has a pretty thin skin, so I pass by pizzelles and I take a few in. Can I look to my wife and call kindness a draw without risking upsetting my mother-in-law? Must the sugar-baked wafers and delicious fudge interfere with my diet and give nosh a nudge? Thus I’m holding a Diet Coke next to my lips; it’s my goal to lose weight and to lessen my hips. Yet a mother-in-law is a delicate bird when there’s so much to eat and dessert is the word. On the tray oatmeal cookies and gingerbread man; I resist taste bud lusting the best that I can. But if calories could be absorbed through the eyes, before we leave this party I’d increase in size. O she’s coming my way and I see by her fret she’s unhappy I’ve not eaten baklava yet. I look quick to my better half--“Help me please Peg!” “There is no time to waste, I have no hollow leg!” And the room is revolving with frosting galore; as I look for an apple I’m met with a Smore. My dear mother-in-law has let baking abide; as all good guests devour, she bubbles with pride. It’s a delicate walk when your mother-in-law gives a party and you have to limit your maw. So I wear cargo pants for some sweet stowaway, and my standing stays good at this festive soiree. 32 Lines soiree: \swä-ˈrā\ a party or reception held in the evening. |