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February 15, 2002

Mel is such a romantic—a wordsmith extraordinaire! I'm sure most every woman would appreciate a handwritten, heartfelt poem from their husband like the one I got from mine this Valentine's Day. It went something like this...

I coulda got you flowers, but I wrote this poem instead

'Cause fancy words'll last a spell while roses end up dead.

I coulda bought you candy, but it'd jist rot out your teeth

And since thur gittin' sorta long, didn't wont to cause more grief.

I coulda wined and dined you, but that's plumb superficial,

Thought I'd pen these words instead, to let you know yore special.

Coulda bought a diamond rang, but you've run outta fangers,

Coulda bought a opry ticket, but don't like uppity strangers.

Coulda booked a trip abroad, but didn't wont you hijacked

Coulda booked a guided tour, but mighta got you bushwacked.

Thought about a week-long cruise, but you'da been too bored,

Thought about a bullfight, but I feared you might git gored!

You know yore sweet as honey, and only half as sticky,

Yore nicer than a heifer, but at times yore awful picky,

Yore purdier than a speckled pup, and smell a whole lot better,

An' handier'n balin' wahr—girl, yore a real go-gitter!

Yore skin's as soft as a newborn pig's, an' shiny like it's new,

Yore eyes are green as prickly pears, an' sparkle like the dew.

Yore hair's a purdy color, a mighty innerstin' shade,

And thanks to Lady Clairol, you can fix it when it fades!

Yore figger's grown a size er two, it's mighty plain to see,

But nobody wonts an ol' pore cow, so that's okay with me.

I like a gal with muscles, an' paddin' whur it counts.

She needs the strangth fer liftin' bales, an' when she falls, she'll bounce.

Yore talents are so many, it's hard to find the words,

You play like Liberace, an' sang like a mockin'bird.

Yore voice is like an angel's, as smooth an' soft as silk,

'Cept when you git yore back up, then it can curdle milk!

Yore cookin's shown improvement, (it couldn'ta got no worse)

Askin' you to cook can be a blessin' or a curse.

But I don't let that git me down, I've learned to like canned biscuits,

Microwave popcorn, tunafish an' nem newfangled, precooked briskets.

I coulda done a lotta thangs, to show you that I care

But like I said, they all seem cheap when you stop to compare

Them to these special words I wrote, an' finished jist in time,

To tell you that I thank yore swell. Would you be my Valentine?