My Wife the Hooker

Another fun poem sent via email through the Knit4Charities group. I read this one out to Mark & the boys. Of course Brodie automatically thought of the wrong thing. Typical teenage boy reaction? I dunno but it was funny seeing his face once he worked out what it truly meant.

My Wife the Hooker.
My wife, she is a hooker

Of this she's mighty proud

And the stories of her exploits

Are legends in our town.

She's shameless with her talents

She'll go hooking anywhere

And if people want to watch her

She really doesn't care.

It seems to be a family thing

Her mother taught her how

Seems her grandma was a hooker

And my daughter's hooking now.

She goes to hookers meetings

To learn the new techniques

She starts hooking in a frenzy

And won't talk to me for weeks.

She doesn't do the house work

She doesn't make the beds

She doesn't have the time for that

She'd rather hook instead.

My wife she is a hooker

And I curse that awful day

When she first picked up the hook and yarn

And learned how to crochet.