I WHISTLE A HAPPY TUNE

Gentle Readers,

An adorable old song just popped into my head. It has such a perky easy-to-sing-along-with tune.

Hey, little girl, comb your hair, fix your make-up, soon he will open the door,
Don't think because there's a ring on your finger, you needn't try any more.
For wives should always be lovers too,
Run to his arms the moment that he comes home to you.
I'm warning you,
Day after day, there are girls at the office and the men will always be men,
Don't stand him up, with your hair still in curlers, you may not see him again.
Wives should always be lovers too,
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.
He's almost here, hey, little girl, better wear something pretty,
Something you wear to go to the city,
Dim all the lights, pour the wine, start the music, time to get ready for love.
Time to get ready for love, yes it's time to get ready for love,
It's time to get ready, kick your shoes off, baby....

Good old Frank Sinatra crooned that Burt Bacharach/Hal David warning to women, uh, excuse me, little girls - because even when we're adults, we're still just simple-minded children.

Well, Burt and Hal, what if you comb your hair and fix your make-up but he stops using deodorant and he grabs you in bed to give you a big ole kiss and he manages to pull your face right into his hairy stinking armpit?

And what if you run to his arms the moment he comes home to you but he doesn't floss, use mouth wash, and doesn't even brush half the time and his breath reeks of garlic?

And what if you don't have something pretty to wear because he has a little gambling habit?

And what if you dim the lights and pour the wine and start the music and your six year old starts throwing up his entire supper and you have to clean him up and wash his sheets while the big man falls asleep watching football?

And how about when it's time to get ready for love and he heaves himself on top of you in bed and he's so overweight you can't breathe?

And what if you manage to get ready for love in spite of everything but his penis is so tiny that you can't find it no matter how much searching you do?

What then, Bert and Hal? What then?

Just curious.

I think maybe we little girls will take our rings with us when we march out the door so we can sell them and buy a nice suit and get a job and live with a man who is always happy to see us no matter what.

And that man's name is Fido or Spot.

Love,

Lola