‘The Italian Job’ by Jeff Eardley

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The Italian Job

a true story

“I’m from Pisa,” she cried with a giggle,
As she leaned, towering over the man,
With the beard, the bald head and the glasses,
Climbing out of the janitor’s van.

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He cried, ”I must sort out your drainage,
For your pipes are all clogged up with slime.”
As she hitched up her skirt, she retorted,
“You can sort out-a my pipes anytime.”

All at once, he was clearly besotted,
As he thought about spending some cash,
On this busty young lass with a beer-gut,
And the hint of a hairy moustache.

He plucked up the courage to ask her,
If she’d like to go out for a meal,
With the guy who’d just sorted her plumbing.
She sniggered and cried, “It’s a deal.”

He knew of an intimate Bistro,
It was called “Mi Amour” he could swear.
And was run by a bunch of Italians,
So, he reckoned he’d take her up there.

They had Bolognese Sauce with Spaghetti,
As they sipped their Chianti alone.
But as she got drunker, she told him,
Of the hundreds of men she had known.

When she smiled, he could see bits of pasta,
That had stuck to the gaps in her teeth.
Then he knew he had something to ask her,
And he knew that he had to be brief.

“Come, let us be married my darling,
There’s so much to build our lives on,
Give me your reply in five minutes,
While I take a quick trip to the John.”

But as he returned, he was startled,
That the bar staff had seemed very keen,
For glancing across every table,
There wasn’t a glass to be seen.

Then she cried, “I accept-a your offer,
For you look-a like a man I can trust.”
As they strolled, arm in arm to the exit,
He thought he’d be slaking his lust.

They got to her flat in the Moonlight,
As she slumped in a chair by the sink.
As removing her wig and her dentures,
She told him she needed a drink.

She rummaged around in her handbag,
To pull out a bottle of Gin.
Then rummaged around a bit further,
For something to put the Gin in.

She pulled out a dozen carved tankards,
And tumblers for Whisky galore,
With some nice fluted Schooners for Sherry,
All property of, “Mi Amour.”

He stood there in shock and amazement,
And hardly containing his grief.
He cried, “Look, the wedding is cancelled,
For I’ll never get spliced to a thief.”

The moral and end to this story
For lads who are marrying lasses:
“Be careful or soon you’ll be sorry
That you married a woman with glasses!”

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Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.