Which bright spark insisted
That a dress should have its zip
Mostly located at the spine
Running from neck to hip?
Did they assume all women
And transvestites of this world
Would have a 24/7 partner
Or professional contortionist skills?
Or that we could simply sprout
A pair of extra long arms
Like flaming Inspector Gadget
That extend beyond the norm?
You need to be an Octopus
To zip yourself up alone
With a PHD in yoga
Like a coil chord from an old phone
The times I’ve almost slipped a disc
Trying to get my damn dress to fasten
Upside down, reaching for my butt
Bending over backwards
Twisting, turning, toiling
To no bloody avail
And still I can’t yank the zip up
Much higher than my tail
Without really starting to wobble
Almost hitting the deck
Wrestling hard, cursing out loud
Profusely working up a sweat
It’s really such a ball ache
And to admit this I am loathe
But frequently I leave the house
Indecently exposed!