A Lonely Yorkshireman

The contradicting ramblings of a sodding old fool

Mismarried

with one comment

She is from Venus, I’m from down south.
I am the alien but nevertheless,
a strange type of English doth make its appearance
whenever my wife – who was born in this country
and taught the Queen’s English – opens her mouth.

We couldn’t be more different.
She lives in the eighties and lately
her music is played in the house and the car,
no time given to Bach or Elgar,
rather Wham, Take That and some permed-hair pratt
from an era devoid of style and class.

She’s a good woman, don’t get me wrong,
but when she’s done cooking
the kitchen’s looking like a bomb’s gone off in a grocery store.

Her shoes lie here…. and there,
everywhere you look a mess left for me,
while she watches tv and dreams of winning the lottery.

The sex isn’t bad…
if not taking part – considered an art by my wife
could bring any other man to ecstasy.

Our bed is a tomb, as quiet and tranquil as mud,
no excitement or screaming with pleasure just yawning,
forever poisoned in missionary monotony.

I want out!

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Written by lonelyyorkshireman

April 3, 2011 at 7:57 AM

One Response

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  1. I think you definitely have grounds for a divorce. It is inhuman treatment to force anyone to listen to Wham.

    Seriously, if my husband felt like that about me, I really don’t know what I would do.

    Unga Bunga Girl

    April 4, 2011 at 2:02 AM


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