Chuckle-worthy yet sobering

I bring the children one more glass of water.

I rub the hormone night cream on my face.

Then after I complete the isometrics.

I greet my husband with a warm embrace.

A vision in my long sleeved flannel night gown.

And socks (because my feet are always freezing).

Gulping tranquilizers for my nerve-ends.

And Triaminic tablets for my wheezing.

Our electric blue blanket's set for toasty.

Our red alarm clock's set for seven thirty.

I tell him that we owe the grocer plenty.

He tells me that his two best suits are dirty.

Last year I bought him a Centaur for his birthday.

(they promised he'd become half-man, half-beast.

Last year he bought me something black and lacy.

(They promised I'd go mad with lust at least.)

Instead my rollers clink on the pillow.

And his big toenail scrapes against my skin.

He rises to apply a little chap-stick.

I ask him to bring back two Buffferin.

Oh somewhere there are lively little boudoirs.

With Porthault sheets, canopies and whips.

He lion-hunts in Africa on weekends.

She measures thirty-three around the hips.

Their eyes engage across the brandy snifters.

He runs his fingers through her Kenneth hair.

The kids are in the other wing with nanny.

The sound of violins is everywhere.

In our house there's the sound of dripping water.

It's raining and he never patched the leak.

He grabs the mop and I get out the bucket.

We both agree to try again next week.

- Source unknown!