Oh dear–I’m thinking I’m shrinking:
I’m too short for my pants.
I tried on my summer slacks–did they fit? Fat chance!
They hung over my shoes and dragged on the floor
I looked in the mirror and said, ‘never more!’
Never more will I spend evenings taking up hems
With a lap full of long pants and a mouth full of pins–
Oh no, that won’t do, it won’t do at all.
Starting today I’m seeing the tailor–she can do it all!
I’ll pay any price, and wait any length of time
I’ll gladly wait til they’re done and drink gin and lime–
For the privilege and pleasure of well-fitted slacks
I’ll drink and read and nap and relax–
I could do it myself with my cranky old Singer
I’ve had her 47 years, love her but could fling her
Out back in the yard as her mechanisms are hard
They don’t want to keep stitches,
Or hear all my bitches.
So, to the tailor I go
Pay her out of my cash flow–
Wear those now-fitting pants
With style and romance,
Until next year, when, I sadly fear
I’ll have to do it all over again, oh dear, oh, dear!