Be grateful for small families

Be grateful for small families.

My mother was thankful
he didn't wear sandals.
His mother was thankful
I wasn't in the club.
My father was thankful
he wasn't on the dole.
His father was thankful
I was gainfully employed.
My sister was thankful
her husband had a better degree.
His sister was thankful
she had longer legs and thinner thighs.
My cousin the accountant was thankful
he wasn't self-employed.
His cousin the banker was thankful
I didn't want an overdraft.
My aunts and uncles were thankful
he came from a nice family in Surrey
(although he did have a beard which
is usually a Bad Sign)
and his aunts and uncles were thankful
I came from a nice family in Yorkshire
(although I did have a bedsit in Balham which
is usually a Bad Sign).

Maybe I should be pleased.

But when I remember my generously-catered wedding day
and all our lovely gifts,
from his 221 near relatives,
like the set of three royal purple hand-towels,
the oh-so-ethnic Oxfam candelabra,
the silver-plated egg cups,
the petrol-station sherry glasses,
the very tasteful Athena print (unframed),
the bri-nylon sheets and polyester (single) duvet,
the two own-label toasters,
the paperback on bee-keeping
and the Canasta set three families clubbed together for,
then I can't help but wish that
our well-fed and watered guests could all have been
just that little bit
more thankful.