‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – Single Ladies in Glasgow Version

‘Twas the night before Christmas on Sauciehall Street
The advent calendars had been emptied, long devoid of sweet treats;
Not a creature was sober, not even a mouse
As the two single flat mates stumbled into their house.

With dreams of the New Year and a clean slate
We fell asleep with the hope that the morning would come minus headaches;
My flatmate in her room, and I on the couch,
we’d just settled our brains for a short drunken nap.

When from my iPhone there came a vibrate and buzz,
with a half-eye open I looked to see who it was.
The object of my affection had just texted me, a day late a buck short – why couldn’t it be anyone other than he?
I arose from the couch, looking out to the street
the rain was still pouring, and now turning to sleet.

“Was he out there?” I thought. “Stuck in the rain?”
“Thinking of me now?” Naw, just drunk and lame.
I opened the message, and what should appear?
Not a sweet drunk text – but just as I’d feared.

I could picture him saying each and every damn word,
With a slur, none the less, he’d blame his issues on past burds.

If I’d had the sense earlier, I’d have bought more wine
Instead of drinking it then – I’d have saved a bottle for such a time.
To Google I went, to look up dial-a-drink
At this point I needed a bit more alcohol to think.

An hour passed and our buzzer rang startling me so
Half asleep I rose to collect my wine from the street below.
We sat, two single ladies, drinking alcohol for an exorbitant fine.
Sharing stories and fags, honestly not a bad time.

With a good friend to console you, and to share in the grief
On such nights I’ve found it a comforting relief.
While the life of a single during the holidays is not always grand
It’s often less complicated than when spent with a man.

About this version

The original version of this poem was written by Clement Clarke Moore and inspired by Saint Nicholas and a snowy winter’s day. This rendition was inspired by my single lifestyle in Glasgow on Sauciehall Street and a text message from an idiot received at an ungodly hour of the morning.

Any good renditions of holiday poems you’d like to share? What does your night before Christmas look like?

Image signature and red lips

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