‘Twas four days before Christmas, when inside the house
Not a creature was stirring, except for one mouse
The party’d been planned by three friends with care
All had turned 50 and felt some despair.
That day’s locations she looked at with dread
As visions of horrible danced in her head.
“There’s no way we’ll finish, the schedule is crap!
The director’s a lunatic, the producer’s a sap!
The camera could break, its lens all a-shatter
The sky threatens rain, the costumes could tatter.
The talent could meltdown; egos could clash
The script could be easily tossed in the trash.”
So she left for the station, her heart full of woe
Knowing that likely she’d not get to go.
But things went quite smoothly despite all her fear
And she bid them farewell when evening came near.
The soup she had made was warming and thick
The cookies she’d baked made nobody sick.
The viands were marvelous, the chatter was game
The wine was superb, the presents the same.
Not a single disaster, no problem or fight
Happy Birthday to all, and to all a good night!
