Someone dared me to write a latke limerick. (No need to check your calendars. Hanukkah’s still in December.)
A latke debate has emerged:
“Eat latkes with sugar,” Mark urged.
“Using sugar sounds weird,”
Sev’ral said. Others cheered.
As for me, latkes ought to be purged.
My beau plays the cello. His bow
Makes the loveliest music I know.
I love him, I think,
But my mother, a shrink,
Says I won’t, once I’ve heard Lorne Munroe.
I enjoy playing Hearts against bots.
Do they win many times? Alas, lots!
But they don’t stop to snack,
And they never talk smack.
They don’t gloat or take shots or share thoughts.
It’s a holiday season for ME.
No, not Christmas; I’m Jewish, you see.
If I must, I’ll embellish:
The day that I relish
Is “Short Person Day,” for I’m wee.
This limerick would, alas, be timely, even if today (December 18) weren’t “World Knot Tying Day.”
A woman was tied up in knots
Over Covid. She feared for her tots.
Said her husband, “No vax!
I’d rather eat wax!”
In their fam’ly, the dolt calls the shots.
It’s National Screwdriver Day.
The drink (not the tool) is at play.
I find vodka too rough.
Orange juice? I rebuff.
But together, great stuff, so hooray!
“Bad Hair Day’s” today. It’s displeasin’
When your hair appears strangled by teasin’,
Or looks dry and yet oily;
Behaving disloyally!
I’m tempted to cite mine for treason.
“Our son has a terrible vice;
He’s a gambler and not very nice.
When we tell him to stop,
He says, ‘Mother and Pop,
All my cards on the table: No dice!'”
Of the many odd hol’days I find,
There are some that I can’t get behind:
Today’s “Cheater Day!” Why
Salute such a guy?
Oh, it’s “Cheetah” Day? Oops! Never mind!
The new year is coming up fast,
As I think of the world’s recent past.
It feels like the brink,
So to hope I shall drink:
Next year’s GOT to be better than last.
*****
Resolution Disclaimer:
Resolutions ain’t sticky, I fear,
Be it sugar, tobacco or beer.
If you’ve broken that pledge,
Please don’t be on edge.
No worries! There’s always NEXT year.
*****
Drunken Limerick:
Can I write silly verse after drinking?
Let’s see. Wait a second — I’m thinking.
Can’t come up with a verse
Or a rhyme. Even worse,
I suspect that this limerick’s stinking.
I’m acknowledging “Short Girl Appreciation Day” reluctantly, because of my aversion to the word “girl” when applied to grown women. Now if they changed it to “Short Woman Appreciation Day,” I’d be a lot more enthusiastic.
Though I stand at a measly five feet,
And in height-fights I’m easy to beat,
Some assume that I’m taller;
A word-spewing brawler
Like me couldn’t be small or petite.
AWOL socks are a grim laundry given;
Former pairs inexplicably riven,
Dresser drawers oddly littered
With orphans, embittered
And wond’rin’ where old mates are livin’.
At the start of each year, it’s tradition
To draw up a vow-list, the mission
Being clean up one’s act
In some way. But in fact,
Our lapses soon lead to contrition.
The new year is coming up fast,
As I think of the world’s recent past.
It feels like the brink,
So to hope I shall drink:
Next year’s GOT to be better than last.
That annual moment is near,
When I notice I’ve failed to adhere
To the “vow list” I wrote;
Resolutions I’ll quote
In my NEW list. (They’re longer each year.)
I’m not writing a climate-change screed,
But I’d wager most folks would concede
This is crazy as heck:
Icy drinks on our deck,
Late December, New York. Coat? No need!
