What's the Pointe

Sunny Sunday PM
Should be scoffing roast
Instead we are out shopping
Turning the credit card to toast

It's smoking some already
At just the very thought
My wallet's got a fever
It's upset, aghast, distraught

This could take hours
A midday malady
All in the name of dancing
No booze to set me free

Perched on the arm
Of a sofa made for two
Watching as they try on endless pairs
No chance to say adieu

The life of a dance dad
Played out loud and clear
I didn't choose the best time
To take a break from beer

In the end it will be worth it
That's what I tell myself
Let's hope she doesn't need to try
Every damn pair on the shelf

Finally with her new shoes
She does herself anoint
Try to tell me all you like
I'll never see the Pointe