Happy 50th Jenny
For many years, Jenny was my best friend, until my brother Stephen came home on leave for the weekend from the army, and pinched her from me. Just kidding. We are still very good friends, and I have forgiven my brother for taking my playmate away. They have now been married for sixteen years, and have a fifteen year old daughter, Stephanie. I asked her father, Jack, for some of the most embarrassing memories he had of Jenny, so that I could present her with this poem on her 50th birthday, in 1999. These are the memories he gave me. If you know someone who is reaching a special age, and has some embarrassing secrets that they would rather not be reminded of, why not let me write them in a form of a poem. It makes a great party piece. Also, Jenny asked me to write her a verse to include in her party invitation because all the verses in the pre-printed ones, were so boring. I have included this verse, too. If you would like me to write your party invitation, why not e-mail me.
PS. Cindy, (now deceased,) was Jenny’s dog. I just thought I’d explain that before you read this poem and wondered who Cindy was.
Happy 50th Birthday
Jenny, love from your much, much, younger
Sis-in Law.
By Amanda Jay Clark.
When Jenny was just a
little girl,
Into the garden she went,
To pick herself some flowers,
That she could poke with a stick to make scent.
But, to her parents horror,
The flowers she chose for the job,
Meant there was nothing nice for their dinner.
There were no kidney beans on the hob.
They couldn’t even have roast bunny.
She stopped it from being shot,
By taking it home for Cindy to play with,
To keep it from the stew pot.
But at lease they never went hungry.
Her cakes were the best, by far.
She won prizes for her cream fillings,
And home made jam from a jar.
Her home is more like a cafe,
With the kettle never far off the boil,
Where she serves up strong tea, and coffee,
With hot tasty snacks wrapped in foil.
But when it comes to decorating,
Never ask her to give you a hand.
Jack regrets that he once asked her,
Because things didn’t go as he planned.
He slapped all the paste on the paper,
And then, needless to say,
He would need no further adhesive,
Should he one day choose to wear a toupee.
Cos his clumsy, yet loving daughter,
Dropped it sticky side down on his head.
When he tried to get up the next morning,
He found he was glued to the bed.
She gets into even more trouble,
When she messes with fruit from the vine.
For instead of a smooth Bordeaux,
She made explosive home made wine.
Who sieves wine through a colander?
Rather than using a fine mesh!
There was rhubarb all over the ceiling,
And she had to decorate afresh.
Our Jen’s not a youngster any more,
She’s getting on in years.
Sadly, she doesn’t grow wiser,
In fact, senility nears.
The best of times are behind her,
With not much to look forward too.
Why she’s even gonna bother trying,
I simply haven’t a clue!
Her joints will soon start to creak,
And she’ll squeak as she bends at the knees,
Her blood will grow thinner, and thinner,
Causing her body to freeze.
Her eyesight will start to grow dimmer,
And her hearing will fade in and out.
She’ll hear snatches of conversation,
But not know what they’re talking about.
Her teeth will yellow, and rot,
But at least that can soon be put right,
She can use a strong bleach solution,
As they soak in a glass over night.
Knowing Jenny as well as I do,
She won’t give in without a fight,
Even after her boobs start sagging,
So that her clothing no longer hangs right.
When her hips start to spread and grow fat,
Along with a large double chin,
She will still refuse to age gracefully,
As her hair starts to grey, and grow thin.
Her skin will wither, and wrinkle,
And her once smooth face will be gone.
The only comfort I can offer now she’s fifty is,
Rock On Wrinkly, Rock On!
You Are Invited To A
50th Birthday Party.
By Amanda Jay Clark.
My old dragon is
turning fifty,
Becoming an old farty.
Come and help her chew her food,
At her birthday party.
The date for this auspicious occasion,
Is the fifteenth of May.
If it’s possible for you to attend,
You must RSVP right away.
If you can not attend the celebration,
Because you’ll be somewhere far too remote,
Please send us your excuses,
On the back of a fifty pound note.
The Welsh Tavern in Dartford, Kent,
Is the place where the fun will be found,
Where Stephen will pay for your dinner,
Jack and Stephanie will buy you a round.
Seven-thirty for eight O’clock,
Is the time you’re required to attend.
Then it’s eat, drink, and be merry,
From beginning, right through to the end.
This document is protected by copyright, and remains the property of the author, Amanda Jay Clark.