By: David Lamoureaux
Greetings, dear Grandpa, with love and affection
It’s been a year-and-a-half since my wedding reception.
I just thought I’d tell you how life really is,
Not like those fairy tales you told us as kids.
Your lectures on women still ring in my ears.
Treat them gentle and dearly
they’ll love you for years.
Being dainty and fragile, they need special care.
Bring them flowers and candy,
and they’ll always be there.
Grandpa, what a shock you’re about to receive,
Because there’s a new breed of female
you wouldn’t believe.
The fashions they’ve altered;
they wear what they please,
Including leather and metal and men’s BVD’s.
Their hair color, too, now ranges supreme.
It has more shades than a spectrum machine,
From oranges, purples, blues and reds.
You may even see more than one color per head.
Others dress up like men, wearing our ties,
Smoking big black cigars, like one of the guys.
They’re independent and stronger, less in need,
Than the way you said and led me to believe.
With high self-esteem they roll with the punches.
They ask us for dates and pay for our lunches.
It’s not always clear to see what you’ve got,
‘Cause sometimes it looks like what it is not.
These things I’ve found out much on my own,
But not before I’d settled down
and established a home.
I did what you told me, but nevertheless, I still got myself into one hell of a mess.
After I married, somehow you see,
It all ended up quite differently.
My wife took this job, which she loves and adores,
While I stay at home to do all the chores.
It looked like a snap; I thought I’d made out.
Get plenty of rest, just straightening about.
But I’m up with the birds and sometimes before.
This cleaning’s too much I can’t take anymore.
I’m changing the diapers, making the beds,
Cooking and washing, making sure they’re all fed
While she’s driving a truck, having a ball.
Right now she’s pumping iron in the back hall.
Hell! It’s not like you said a marriage would be.
My wife doesn’t obey and administer to me.
Those wonderful things you neglected to teach me
Have finally caught up and are starting to reach me.
I’m always a frazzle my nerves are all shot.
I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m crying a lot.
I keep hearing these voices about taking a trip.
Do you think perhaps I’m losing my grip?
I have to close now, grandfather dear,
And see what they want,
those two men that are here.
They keep mentioning this room,
very small and all white,
With pads everywhere and an overhead light.
They have this white coat they want me to try.
I hope that it’s free; it’s not one I would buy,
‘Cause it’s not my own style, I know it won’t fit,
Those sleeves are too long and it’s tight at the hip.
There’s no room for your hands,
With buckles and straps.
Who’d ever buy a jacket like that.