Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, I could hear something stirring; it was my husband, that louse. I screamed down the stairs, 'Jack, get back to this bed,' but heard not a word from the weasel I wed. So I slipped on my housecoat and stockings with care, but except for those items my body was bare. I scoured the whole house, but my search was in vain and visions of homicide danced through my brain. When out on the lawn there rose such a sound, I ran to the door and tore open my gown. The moon on my breasts in the new-fallen snow gave the luster of youth that I had long-ago. When what to my baby-blue eyes should appear, but a man dressed in red from his head to his rear. From the leer in his eye to the hump on his back, I knew in a flash that it must be my Jack. More rapid than eagles his corsairs they came, and he whistled and shouted and called me by name.
04 Dec 2008