The best friend is gone, and my house is my own again. He made a lovely dinner and tidied up the garden and took my kids into town. But also, when I put my hair up and wore my spiffiest earrings and put on a clean white shirt for yesterday’s birthday party, said “Oh, aren’t you dressing up? Why not?” So I still don’t like him.
Hence the poem.
Thank-you Note, by Judith Viorst
I wanted small pierced earrings (gold).
You gave me slippers (gray).
My mother said that she would scold
Unless I wrote to say
How much I liked them.