Female Economy

Angry because there was such a small at- tendance at a meeting arranged by the House- wives’ Association, the president (Mrs Gib- son) accused women of being selfish and inclined to stay at home rather than risk their best clothes in a shower of rain.

Butter may be going up, dear;
But my costume for the Cup, dear,
Which my husband bought last year,
Vowing it was far too dear,
Simply could not be destroyed.
I don’t care who was annoyed.

What’s the odds tho’ I explain, dear,
How it simply poured with rain, dear,
With my costume drenched and spotted
I would simply look besotted
Landing there in such a state.
Couldn’t they not postpone the date?

Then there’s my grey gabardine 
dear—
Fancy coming on the scene, dear,
To discuss the price of eggs,
With it clinging round my legs—
Dripping feathers in my hat—
Looking like a poor, drowned rat!

I don’t care if sugar’s cheap, dear,
I have clothes that I must keep, dear.
Hubby says that money’s tight;
I don’t want to look a fright.
If I get no clothes this year,
What care I if jam is dear?

Bother all these housewives’ schemes,
dear.
I have hats that are just dreams,
dear.
In you think I’d have them spoiled
After all the hours I’ve toiled—
Schemed and planned in desperation
Just to wrangle one creation?

What care I tho’ eggs should rise,
dear?
I have veils that match my eyes, dear.
I have shoes that look just sweet
On my rather shapely feet.
Why should these be ruined quite,
Just to keep the prices right?

Let the prices rise or fall, dear,
Really, I don’t care at all, dear.
I shall not risk hats and dresses
Spite of all household distresses.
Tho the prices soar, and soar
I don’t know when I’ll get more.