The woman's poem....

He didn't like the casserole
And he didn't like my cake,
He said 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.
So I turned around and smacked him one 
Like his mother used to do.



Unashamedly taken from another forum.

Thankyou Mike.

But ... He loved her frozen sprouts

Hi this poem brings back memories.When I was first married, every time i cooked a joint of meat.It was never up to his mothers standard. I got so fed up with this,one day he complained,I just picked the plate of dinner up ,an put it over his head.