Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for my spouse.
The TV hung above the fire with care, yet my wife still managed to block it up there.
My wife had been snug, and tucked into bed; but visions of chores and “honey do lists” danced in her head.
I in my cap had just settled in, to watch the big game about to begin. When what to my wondering eyes should appear? My wife in her ‘kerchief, her face with a sneer.
She sprung from her bed though she heard nothing clatter, annoyed and irate, but there was NOTHING a matter.
She flung open the shutters, and gave her critiques; of all the lights and decorations that have been there for weeks.
The moon on her breast like a dollar peep show, gave movement to, my object below. When she noticed my smile, she covered up quick, no cookie for me, unlike St. Nick.
With hopes now dashed like a windblown candle, I resumed my viewing of the TV on the mantle.
She dashed, she danced, and she pranced like a vixen. With Comet and Dawn she returned from the kitchen.
She crissed and she crossed in front of the tube. I sat there dumbfounded like a newborn rube.
She said she was cleaning, making everything right. Because jolly St. Nicholas would be there tonight.
Just as the tying field goal kicked, she shut off the TV, with a jubilant click.
As dry leaves in a hurricane fly, I leapt from my lazyboy up to the sky. Right from her hand the remote, I did snatch; I was determined the end of the game I would catch.
Then I heard her exclaim ‘ere she sauntered out of sight. “I have a Merry Christmas for you, if you come say good night.”
POLITASPORTS 