Don't Throw the Baby Out with the Wrapping Paper

It's the day after Christmas; I'm off to the store,
         Returning the gifts I don't like:
That hideous sweater, the fruitcakes galore,
         And a grueling exercise bike.

But of all of the things I'm returning today,
         There's one that fits worse than the rest:
Wrong size and wrong style, and it's covered with hay—
         I'm just sure it's some God-given test!

So I'll get me a new one, a good one, a clean one,
         In a size and a type that's much better:
A big one, a bad one, a real lean and mean one,
         Just right for an '00's jet-setter.

It should be a cinch to be happy once more,
         And make the exchange I desire.
If only I knew where to locate the store;
         Perhaps I just need to go higher…

I at last found my way to The Heavenly Store,
         And their Office of All Resolutions
(Ignoring the note that was tacked to the door:
         "No Refunds, and No Substitutions").

I said to the fella (by "Pete" he was known),
         "I'm returning " (the thing aforementiont).
"I wanted a new automatic, full-grown—
         Not A-mmanuel baby so ancient.

"I don't care what your salesman, Gabe Gabriel, said;
        The little tyke's bound to be trouble.
I'm too harried for babies; by 2, he'd be dead—
         For a 'dult one, I'll gladly pay double.

"Now what do you mean, there's no more—do you jest?
         Oh, I see…he's the one on the throne…"
So I finally saw that this gift was the best—
         Though it cost me quite all that I own.

                                             —Anon A. Mouse

                                                                                     © 2001