T'was the night before Christmas and all through the kitchen
I was cooking and baking and did I mention,
I've been here for hours, I can't stop to rest.
This room's a disaster, just look at this mess!
Tomorrow I've got thirty people to feed.
They expect all the trimmings. Who cares what I need!
My feet are both blistered, I've got cramps in my legs,
The cat just knocked over a bowl full of eggs.
There's a knock at the door and the telephone's ringing;
frosting drips on the counter as the microwave's dinging.
Two pies in the oven, dessert's almost done;
my cookbook is soiled with butter and crumbs.
I've had all I can stand, I can't take anymore;
then in walks my husband, spilling rum on the floor.
He weaves and he wobbles, his balance unsteady,
then grins as he chuckles, "The eggnog is ready!"
He looks all around and with total regret, says,
"What's taking so long...aren't you through in here yet?"
As quick as a flash I reach for a knife;
He loses an earlobe; I wanted his life!
He flees from the room in terror and pain
and screams, "MY, MY, WOMAN, YOU'RE GOING INSANE!!"
Now what was I doing, and what is that smell?
Oh dear, it's the pies! Now I must tell...
I hate to admit when I make a mistake,
but I put them on BROIL instead of on BAKE!
What else can go wrong? Is there still more ahead?
If this is good living, I'd rather be dead.
Now don't get me wrong, I love holidays;
It just leaves me exhausted, all shaky and dazed.
But I promise you one thing, if I live 'til next year,
you won't find me pulling my hair out in here.
I'll hire a maid, a cook, and a waiter;
and if that doesn't work, I'LL HAVE IT ALL CATERED!
(I didn't write this, but rather it was given to me, and I have no idea who did write it to give her credit.)