The bane of my life, as a working mum
Is laundry. It’s such a pain in the bum.
Yet something exists whose effects are quite big
The wonderful, functional Whirligig
My granny had one, but my mum never did
A clothes line is what I would see as a kid
“The garden’s for flowers” she’d say and she’d dig
So blind to the glorious Whirligig
My friend bought a house with one in the front
As builders began the poor thing got the shunt
But oblivious Sarah did not give a fig:
“I’m not 80, I don’t need a Whirligig”
I moved to a house as a wife and a mother
Adjusted to life lived on top of each other
When chores finally ended, I’d do a wee jig
While still unaware of the Whirligig
My son got more mobile, the pile of mess grew
The washing and ironing was all I would do
With clothes drying all over, I lived like a pig
If only I’d known of the Whirligig
We moved to the north and searched high and low
For somewhere to live where our family would grow
On moving day, opened the wine, took a swig
Gasped :“What’s that – out back – it’s a Whirligig!”
My life is transformed and my time is my own
On laundry day never again will I moan
I hang out the washing, run round playing ‘tig’,
As it spins, flutters, dries on the Whirligig
My house is so tidy, the heaters are bare
There’s no smell of damp or dead flowers in the air
I’ve time to blow dry! Hair sits good as a wig
All thanks to my fabulous Whirligig
If you’re reading and thinking this woman’s gone mad
Don’t diss me, dismiss me as really quite sad.
Who wants to do chores? Feel light as a twig!
Go get yourself one – praise the Whirligig!
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