By Colleen Michael
He didn't like the casserole And he didn't like my cake. My biscuits were too hard ... Not like his mother used to make.
I didn't perk the coffee right He didn't like the stew, I didn't mend his socks The way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer I was looking for a clue. Then I turned around and smacked him; Like his Mother used to do.