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The Wrong Trousers

A Tale Of Confusions

I'm not good in a morning
When my feet first hit the ground
For the first few minutes
I just sort of stagger around:
Who hung those bloody jeans
In the wrong place
There in my wardrobe
In my hanging space.

The button wouldn't fasten,
The zipper wouldn't close,
And they clung to my legs
Like a pair of pantyhose.
The right make and colour
But they just weren't right
The legs were too short
And the waistline too tight.

Had my diet failed
Could it be worse
Could my diet even
Have gone into reverse
Couldt those larger trews
I'd so cheerfully thrown away
Have to be replaced
Some not too far distant day.

A quick flash of inspiration,
A shout downstairs,
And it was soon confirmed
They were a pair of hers.
The very next time
I carried the washing upstairs
I carried two bundles,
One for his, one for hers,

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