The Wife's Revenge

[thestoryteller]

THE WIFE’S REVENGE

"I'll have a sip of beer my dear,"
the wife would always say.
I was not one for sharing see,
she knew that anyway.

The sharing wasn't my concern,
but would I have enough?
To see me through the whole weekend;
her friends thought I was tough.

"Now if you want a beer," I'd say,
"why don't you let me know.
I'll buy a little extra then,
yes, while I'm on the go."

No, she would wait 'til Sunday 'arve,
when I was on the lounge.
Then when the game had just begun,
she started on the scrounge.

"I'll have a sip of beer my dear,"
which sent me off my head.
"You should have told me Friday 'arve,
so drink some tea instead."

"You're mean," she'd say, "and selfish too,
you never want to share,
I feel that you don't love me dear
or even seem to care."

It was the same old story line
when ev'ry Sunday came.
She knew I would not share my beer,
though asked me all the same.

Then came a weekend I recall
that had been very hot.
Seems all the beer I'd brought on home
I'd drunk the flamin' lot.

The footy match was not much fun,
no, not without a beer,
When from the kitchen came that voice,
"I'll have a sip my dear."

"You know I've got none left," I said,
sarcasm in my tone.
"Then may I have this one?" she asked,
"left sitting on its own."

She'd somehow found another beer,
I couldn't believe my eyes.
"You've Buckley's chance!" I yelled at her
and ran to claim the prize.

She pleaded, "May I have a sip?
I told you it was there."
"No way!" I cried and sculled it down.
She whinged it wasn't fair.

The awful taste it hit me then,
my face went rather white
and laughing with a dev'lish grin
she thought it quite a sight.

She'd found an empty stubby there
and filled it to the brim,
With soap suds from the washing up,
my lot was rather grim.

My greed had been my downfall mate,
she'd fin'ly found a way
of teaching me what sharing meant.
Revenge was hers that day.