"Tea for two," the vicar droned,
"take care it's rather hot,
but there's much we have to talk
about before you tie the knot."
A weary smile came from the lad;
though bored he did his best,
then bowed his head in silent prayer
as the ginger nuts were blessed.
Time passed, passed, Oh, so slowly,
each minute seemed and hour
and as the vicar waffled on
his future seemed most dour.
"Each Sunday starting from next week,
" the reverend did intone
"I expect to see you in the pews
to make your sins atoned.
And when and if I'm satisfied
that your Christian mores are true,
I'll stand before the multitude
and freely marry you."

The lad made with a furtive glance,
then sighed beneath his breath,
'twas worse than watching paint dry;
like a slow and lingering death,
but still the vicar droned and droned,
long 'til the evening fell,
and by the time he stumbled free
the lad felt most unwell.
"Cor, what a flipping marathon,"
he groaned in lost despair,
"he's got us by the nadgers,
it really isn't fair."
The lassie sighed, "it looks,"
she said, "like Barbados is the choice,
I know you think it's pricey,
but just think, that awful voice!"
Resignedly the lad agreed,
then phoned and booked the jaunt
and three grand poorer later
he felt just a little gaunt.

The lassie smiled a little smile
as the lad went to the bog,
then popped a tenner in the box
and gave silent thanks to God.
The vicar gave a thumbs up
for a job well done that day
and gave the lass a wink and wave
as she hurried on her way.
The lad of course, like all lads,
had no clue that he'd been had,
whilst the lassies, like all lassies,
knew she'd really done not bad.
So the moral of this little tale,
is lads, don't fight the fight,
for as sure as death and taxes,
you'll never get it right.
For the lassies have our measure,
and they're always miles ahead,
and that's the way it's going to be,
until to your grave you head!