Spaghetti, Spaghetti

When Husband was in fifth grade, his mom made him enter UIL poetry and prose contest.

He had to memorize a poem called, Spaghetti, Spaghetti by Jack Prelutsky.

Later on, his mother also made him recite it at the church talent show.

In Husband's words, "I felt like an ass."

Apparently it was extremely memorable because whenever we see/meet someone Husband knew around that time, they always talk about it.

Carolyn had her first plate of spaghetti tonight.

Apparently she thinks that poem rings true:

Here is the poem in it's entirety:

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

You’re wonderful stuff,

I love you spaghetti,

I can’t get enough,

You’re covered with sauce

And you’re sprinkled with cheese,

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

Oh, give me some please.

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

Piled high in a mound,

You wiggle, you wriggle,

You squiggle around.

There’s slurpy spaghetti

All over my plate.

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

I think you are great.

(Jack Prelutsky)