She's Gone To The Christmas Party

I can still taste her lipstick and smell her perfume
The scent of her bathwater in the bathroom
She kissed me goodnight and stepped out through the door
Dressed up to the nines and so pretty in pink
She stepped into the taxi, I skulked back for a drink

Left with only a smile and a “I won’t be too late”
I crept back to my burrow without my soul mate
The annual works Christmas party night
A time for paper hats and a time for men to drool and fight

Left alone with my CDs and my favourite tipple
I listen to Kenny Rogers’ “Ruby” and relate to the cripple
For the next six hours I’ll picture scenarios
Of my wife surrounded by sleazy Lotharios

But it’s obscene that I doubt her or be concerned
After 25 years you’d think I’d have learned
Not to judge her by my own pathetic morals
As despite all my weaknesses, tantrums and quarrels
She’s stood by me through everything, unshakable throughout
And in my times of selfishness she has never shown doubt

And in the wee small hours she’ll wake me with a kiss
What have I done to deserve a woman like this?