inspired by Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC) of 9 August 2022, precarious.
Now I’ve done it, I’m for the high jump,
Now my Trouble & Strife’s got the hump,
Now my life’s hit the skids,
Do you know all I did,
Was show yesterday’s rhyme Mrs Bump.
For those who can’t remember, yesterday’s rhyme was:
There was once an an old codger from Fife,
Got convicted of killing his wife,
When sent down by his peers,
Only got fifteen years,
While the ones who stay married get life.
Mister Bump 
Boss and family [all of them!] are for me an impossible audience. I suppose it is they cannot figure out why I don’t care to go to “we have our hand out, please donate” pretend dinners, sit for hours and chat idly with distant relations planning to get married who monopolize the conversation on how difficult to find a decent reception venue, preferring to spend my time in the garden and at the keyboard. I therefore do NOT ever show them my work. They are too busy watching “Virgin River” or some other boob tube tripe.
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Don’t worry, they’ll take interest when you sell a million.
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