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