T'was a date that I wanted to happen and did
With a man whose attentions for which I did bid
Using sweetness and batting of eyelids so coated
In make-up that friends of mine nodded and noted,
I couldn't lift up my own eyelids to see,
The person across in the mirror: it was me.
The lipstick I wore was so pretty and pink,
It said on the advert there'd ne'er be a kink
In approaching a man for his favor to seize,
For as soon as they saw it they'd ask me to "Please,
Kiss me, I beg you!" it said "Guaranteed!"
(And cost me just twenty-two bucks, a small bleed).
So ready I was for the man of my dreams,
That I shaved my legs twice with a number of creams,
And my underarms too, so that they were as bare
T'was if I'd made use of that product called "Nair",
Which stunk to high heaven if one can remember
And always left fuzz on your grill and your fender.
So next up was choosing the outfit to wear,
Something sheerly seductive to lure to the lair,
This man who I'd wanted for more than a week,
Since the first time we'd met and I'd had just a peek
At his talent at kissing which made my face blush.
In fact, in 8 days, I'd developed a crush.
So into the closet I plunged with a passion,
To find the right outfit, no slave me, to fashion!
For when it is up to a girl to seduce,
The clothing one picks must not bag or be loose.
The tighter it fits is the key to the night:
If you cannot breathe, then you've got it just right.
And find it I did! This white blouse made of cotton,
For peasants intended, but that was forgotten
Since women of urban adventure did pick
This pattern for access so blatant and quick,
That neither of you had to wait for too long
To begin the concerto where sex is the song.
I paired it along with a skirt that was slim
(even though my lush hips made the look somewhat grim),
But paired, the two bits set me up for the role;
The sum of these parts, just as great as the whole.
And the very last touch was just that: of perfume,
Like a Siren, this man was to face me: his doom.
The doorbell did ring right on time; I did note
That perhaps he was as happy as me to be smote
By a partner whose skills were so obvious to see,
That perhaps he'd spent 8 days too, thinking of me,
Because that's the best way to approach the first date:
With a hunger and wonder and lust that can't wait.
So open I did (just the door - don't be crude),
Since the guy was outside, and not one to be rude,
I invited him in (the apartment - you pervs),
Having had two white wines just to settle my nerves.
He had eyes just for me (I thanked God, since I noted
The dining room table with dust it was coated…).
And thus it began just as well as I'd hoped
For it seemed into trouble we'd gladly been roped.
It almost seemed pointless to go out to the show,
Since watching most everything else we would know,
That the hero and girlfriend would bond at the end.
Let's just stay home! For themselves they could fend!
But no, the whole point is sweet torture of course;
All the petting and leaning and sexual Code Morse,
(Or at least that's what women are wont to pursue;
For the best way to keep the attraction brand new
Is to drag it as long as one possibly can.
And that is the difference twixt woman and man.)
So off we did go, to the subway we entered,
But toward one another, our eyeballs were centered.
And even though people did bump us and shove,
If you'd looked at we two, you'd have thought "They are in love!"
And finally to the theatre we came,
With hands copping feels (that's the name of the game).
So for hours (just two), we sat close in the dark,
Sharing popcorn and bloodlust and fire and spark,
Touching elbows and fingers and shoulders and thighs,
But respectably so, noting neighboring eyes,
As Solo and Kylo did banter and weave,
And explosions and battles did rumble and heave.
(Just as much as our hearts in our mutual chests;
If they'd read our two minds, we'd be under arrest.)
And so finally, FINALLY, credits do roll,
'Cause the heat and our passion have taken their toll;
He can barely stand up, and me too, I'm not well
(If we're Catholic at this point, we're going to hell...).
So wanting to wash up (from popcorn, my dears!),
I head to the bathroom, to check out the mirrors,
And fix my ridiculous hair since I know
That my partner has mussed it (we were in the last row),
And to pee and prepare for the evening to come,
Anticipation for which caused my body to hum.
And so I did all of those things that I said,
Left my stall to wash hands and to check out my head,
When the worst thing a person can see in that room,
Did appear in my sight, dragging me into gloom.
Instead of the towels of paper you see,
Were those fucking hand blowers that really irk me!
They show up in bathrooms; the last thing you'd wish
For they are as useful as bikes to a fish.
You can stand there with only two drops on your hand
And the blower will blow it all over the land,
But it won't dry you off, because that's not its job
For it only makes noise, like a torch-bearing mob.
And so, there I was, holding hand into space,
Cooking flesh for no reason, as always the case,
And waiting and waiting for drops to disperse,
Which is part of the battle and part of the curse.
Just amazed at the ultimate nothing it dries,
And resenting the option to wipe on my thighs.
So now it's been minutes and longer I fear,
I've lost track of time, in my battle in here,
With the man of my dreams tapping toes right outside,
Yet I can't come out til my hands I have dried.
I'm mad at these things! Wreck my life, will they now?
For decades they've dithered, and I've made it my vow…
… to not let this thing get the better of me,
Yes, I'll stand here as long as the bathroom is free,
Wasting energy, time and the patience of folks
Gathered round with their own hands, awaiting for pokes,
In the air blast which nothing it does, take my word!
So long have I stood there, I feel like a nerd.
And slowly the bathroom does empty of others
No sisters are left (and there never were brothers),
Still shaking and waving my hands at this thing,
‘Til tears in the corners of my eyes do sting.
For I realize that 45 minutes have passed,
And who wouldn’t wonder why his girl is last.
And think as I do of this handsome young man
With blue jeans and white shirt and lovely firm hand,
A-waiting out there as concessions do close,
And he’s getting bored now, and beginning to doze.
But still in the palm of my hands I do find
That the moisture is clinging; to me it does bind.
And finally lights flicker off in the halls,
And all the employees depart with fond calls,
To each other, “is everyone out of this place?”
“Ah, no,” they respond, “there’s a nut in no haste,
To retreat from the bathroom where her hands are wet
From the useless devices in there, I’ll just bet.”
And just as the last light is ready to dim,
I give up the battle so hungry for him
And that body be-clothed in that fitted white shirt,
That I wipe off my hands at the end of my skirt.
And so I emerge worse for wear and still damp
To an empty theatre, a-glow with one lamp.
For my date has decided that this was enough,
After waiting one hour, he's left in a huff,
Thinking I was the one who had cast him aside,
When in fact in my mind I’d imagined the ride
That I’d hoped we would share to the end of the wire.
And so this is the reason I hate the Hand-dryer.
No comments:
Post a Comment