IRONY

My mother said the other day that what I want in love

Is something quite ridiculous and not in Heav’n above.

She said that if I list too much the things I want in him

Then fate will slap me in the face, and negate ev’ry dense whim.

I’d like him dark with big black eyes and tan that makes me swoon

And if he had thick eyelashes I’d want to see him soon.

He must be at least six feet tall with burly shoulders too

Be good with kids, not pick his nose, and flirty girls he rue.

His teeth are straight and white and bright as any star above

If all these things he has and more he’s sure to win my love.

But, says my sweet mother dear, fate is a mean old thing.

It’s sure to take all that I want and with a smile wring.

Forget the “dark,” he’ll be so light the sun won’t shine no more.

His light blue eyes and sandy hair will make my poor heart sore.

He’ll probably be a midget, maybe shorter than myself

And then Our child shall, in a word, be called by all an elf.

His shoulders won’t be much to see, his teeth look like a fence

The kind that lies around a home, it doesn’t make no sense.

He’ll hate all kids and make them cringe, he’ll flirt with all my friends

And even when he picks his nose our love will never end.

I might as well eat all I want so I can get real fat

Who needs a man? I have my cake, and one big hairy cat.