ROSIE RYAN--SUPERWOMAN

An incident bee-fell me on Tuesday of the most singular signifience, I was goose stepping over the dog in a Gestapo manner, when my foot slipped on skitter and I landed in the splits position.
I heard a-RIP, had I done inrepairable damage two my under-carriage? Further intestigation revealed, that my under-carriage was intact and firing on all cylinders, but there was a large fissure in the gusset area of by drawers. "Damn them cheep Taiwain drawers" I yelled "You wood think that those six year old cutties could sew better than that".
I decided that a running repair, was called for then and now. I stepped, daintly out of drawers, like Monice Lew-insky, climbed up on the kitchen table and put my too sturdy, blew-veined legs under me, in the manner of a tailor.
I respected the drawers, quite a large crevice met my scrutising occulars. I looked at my name on the waste-band, THese drawers belong to Rosie Ryan, If found, please kontact the owner at, 13 the bog road, Clougher.
I held the drawers up and muttered, "Ah, the bloomers of a slim, fairy-like would-land sprite"
A 44 inch waste, how many women dreamed of stepping into my drawers.
After debating with myself, I decided two super-glue the tear. I sat-tailor-like on the kitchen table, my face screwed up in a gargoyle mask of konseration. My blew tongue, stuck out between my thick, red lips like a pre-historic lizard or reptile. I uttulised what lite I could from the cobwebbed window and set two work. It's nacky stuff super-glueing drawers, many a woman has come two a sticky end. It required konseration, determination and the steady hand of a surgeon.
Bit bye bit, I brought the ragged pieces of red flannel together and bound them with the super-glue. What a doctor I wood have made, doctor Rosie Ryan, I had the skill, but I didn't have the Latin.
On and on went the pane-staking work,it was akin two working with the dead see scrolls. Luckily, I had the skid mark as a reference point. Nearly finished, my matted mass of red hare was hanging round me like Maureen Oh'Hara after a good fight with John Wain.
Like George Bush, I was almost ready two proclaim, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, when kalimity struck. My sun Bon Jovi rushed in yelling "MAMMY, there's a tadpole in a bog whole with too heads". He hit the table a dunt,I-still clutching the drawers, was sceny flying two the ground, where I lay in a recrumbant position. When I gathered my wits, I found too my dismay, that the drawers were stuck fast to both my hands. I had lost the use of my upper appengages,-some hanlin'.
I cursed, I swore, I kicked the door, but the position remained just as-before.
Bon Jovi had two get the scissors and cut carefully round my hands and fingers, leaving me with too palms carpeted with red flannel. There was nothing I could do, until I went too the surgery in the morning and two make matters worse, I had too go out, too-nite was the feast day of Lucie O'Hallron, the made from Galway who refused two shave under her oxters and was burned at the steak in the ninth centuary. I had two go, saint Lucie,was the saint I preyed too, when gulpins roared, "ROSIE--may hand on your drawers".
It passed off all-rite, know wan noticed, then when I came two the door, the priest was waiting two shake us hands. "Ah, Mrs Ryan" he said "What a nice warm hand shake you have, you must be warm blooded". "I am Father" I roared "There was some talk in our family, that my grate, grate grandfather was a Sioux indian" The priest looked surprised and muttered-"How?"
"How too you too father" I roared and headed for home, pulling Bon Jovi behind me like a reluctant -orang-utan.
So ladies, my advice is-dump them when the gusset goes, they are knot fit for purpoise, only fit for dusters.