My English...

I enjoy seeing my wife and son giglish,
every time I get carried away with my English.

Hearing sniggers since my kindergarten,
has made my tender soul harden;
Now, I say what I feel,
and enjoy seeing others squeal.

I can still hear my teachers laughter,
from an early event in my life's chapter; 
'What is your father?', had asked my teacher,
'My father is a man.', had come my proud answer.

In the fourth tender year of my life,
her laughter started nibbling me alive.
I asked my mother if my father was not a man,
but that discussion didn't go so well.

One evening, a pretty waitress asked,
'How do want your steak? Medium?';
'Large please.', I said in tedium.
I felt guilty to foster,
her uncontrollable fits of laughter.

I have experienced my wife's fury,
on my attempts to buy us some inflammable drapery;
My claims that Venus and Mars are inhabitable,
doesn't seem to make by knowledge credible;
I have since, shied away from prefixing 'in',
lest it adds to my list of linguistic sins.

'Goodness, you have a gift!',
Complimented a guest, on my artistic drift;
'I've made it myself, it's not a gift.'
My response, I learnt later, 
was what fomented our social rift.

English, they say, is forgiving,
unfortunately, in my case, 
it has been a harbinger of misgivings.