I wish I was a vicars wife
Or at least how I imagine one to be
With a little floral pinny
And an endless pot of tea
I’d sit on all the committees
And smile benevolently
And every year I’d win first prize
For my quince and courgette chutney
I’d have sensible hair and angelic kids, and I’d never once say Fuck in public
I’d polish my staunch moral code til it shone, while basking in all things domestic
I’d day dream of ways in which one could save the hopeless and hellbound heretic
And I’d smile and I’d sigh and I’d feel sorely blessed, for a life so damn near to perfect.
Oh I wish I was a vicars wife
At least how I imagine one to be
With my ladylike glass of something
At the vicars party tea.
I’d just drink on special occasions
My limit would be three
And I’d go home with all my pride in tact
Plus my knickers still where they should be.
I’d never obsess about how to get paraletic with nobody knowing
Wouldn’t hide in my house with the phone off the hook, before passing out full of self loathing
Wouldn’t drink wine for breakfast and not go to work, always terrified of facing others
And I wouldn’t drive straight into lorries, damn near robbing my kids of a mother.