I heard an odd rumour that the younger generation thought middle-aged women to be boring...

This poem is very rude and should not be read by said 'younger generation'. Apologies to Jenny Joseph fans - it's nothing like that.

Kathy

I'm a boring little housewife.
Hubby, kids and tea with friends.
But, you wouldn't want to know
what I get up to at week-ends!

For I take my little pinny off,
remove my comfy drawers
and I go outside 'Commando'
(even if it's cold outdoors)!

My ironing is a miracle
my cooking is orgasmic -
(but that's all the fun that Bert gets
since his groin's a little spasmic).

I've always been the goodest girl,
homework: apple for my teacher.
My childhood was quite dull, well ...
(that one stroke from our lay preacher...)

But that's all one,
I'm through with dust!
On week-end nights
I hoist my bust
into my see-through studded bra
and head straight for the nearest bar.

It's lovely down our local pub;
our group is called 'The Danger Club'.
We down neat shots
and belch quite shocking
(in between comparing shopping).

We cheer when asked to leave the pub
then stagger to the 'Go-Go' club
and vomit on young men in queues:
insult the girls and cry in loos.

We're dangerous to know you see!
We'll sit on drains and have a pee!
We'll hassle passers-by with fists
and jay walk stupid motorists!

Then, when the evening gets too calm,
I set off my 'personal alarm'
and turn it to its highest pitch
and call that policewoman a witch.

And then, I wave my can of mace
and spray it in that PC's face,
shouting, "You'd better not mess with us
cos we're alarmed and dangerous!"

I think they like me in the cells
cos I give them all a clean as well,
I keep a duster in my bra
(it's true, old habits do die hard).

Well... I think that it's been worth the risk
I quite enjoy my weekly frisk.
But I just don't know what they think I hide
up in my 'Continental Divide'...

And then at last, I'm free as air
I stagger home without a care!
Vomit in my husband's hat
give his 'little man' a pat
stumble twice and kick the cat
shouting, "Who the F--- did you call fat?"

But soon, I don't feel very well,
get into bed and snore like hell -
and dream of cooking Sunday dinner
(a nicely rolled out join's a winner).

So, now you know just what we do
us middle-aged homely housewife 'crew'.
We're a 'monstrous regiment' of maids -
so you can laugh, but -
'be afraid, be very afraid'!