crysede
coulda been a lady
- Joined
- Nov 23, 2001
- Posts
- 5,748
I've just fallen in love with Dorothy Parker!
I dedicate this poetry reading to Lancecastor and Ishmael
WOMEN
A HATE SONG
by Dorothy Parker
I hate Women;
They get on my nerves.
There are the Domestic ones.
They are the worst.
Every moment is packed with happiness.
They breathe deeply
And walk with large strides; eternally hurrying home
To see about dinner.
They are the kind
Who say, with a tender smile, "Money's not everything."
They are always confronting me with dresses,
Saying, "I made this myself."
They read Woman's pages and try out the recipes.
Oh, how I hate that kind of woman.
Then there are the human Sensitive Plants;
The Bundles of Nerves.
They are different from everybody else; they even tell you so.
Someone is always stepping on their feelings.
Everything hurts them -- deeply.
Their eyes are forever filling with tears.
They always want to talk to me about the Real Things,
The things that Matter.
Yes, they know they could write.
Conventions stifle them.
They are always longing to get away -- Away from It All!
-- I wish to Heaven they would.
And then there are those who are always in Trouble.
Always.
Usually they have Husband-trouble.
They are Wronged.
They are the women whom nobody -- understands.
They wear faint, wistful smiles.
And, when spoken to, they start.
They begin by saying they must suffer in silence.
No one will ever know --
And then they go into details.
Then there are the Well-Informed ones.
They are pests.
They know everything on earth
And will tell you about it gladly.
They feel it their mission to correct wrong impressions
The know Dates and Middle names.
They absolutely ooze Current Events.
Oh, how they bore me.
There are the ones who simply cannot Fathom
Why all the men are mad about them.
They say they've tried and tried.
They tell you about someone's husband;
What he said
And how he looked when he said it.
And then they sigh and ask,
"My dear, what is there about me?"
-- Don't you hate them?
There are the unfailing Cheerful ones.
They are usually unmarried.
They are always busy making little Gifts
And planning little surprises.
They tell me to be, like them, always looking on the Bright Side.
They ask me what they would do without their sense of humor?
I sometimes yearn to kill them.
Any jury would acquit me.
I hate Women;
They get on my nerves.
I dedicate this poetry reading to Lancecastor and Ishmael
WOMEN
A HATE SONG
by Dorothy Parker
I hate Women;
They get on my nerves.
There are the Domestic ones.
They are the worst.
Every moment is packed with happiness.
They breathe deeply
And walk with large strides; eternally hurrying home
To see about dinner.
They are the kind
Who say, with a tender smile, "Money's not everything."
They are always confronting me with dresses,
Saying, "I made this myself."
They read Woman's pages and try out the recipes.
Oh, how I hate that kind of woman.
Then there are the human Sensitive Plants;
The Bundles of Nerves.
They are different from everybody else; they even tell you so.
Someone is always stepping on their feelings.
Everything hurts them -- deeply.
Their eyes are forever filling with tears.
They always want to talk to me about the Real Things,
The things that Matter.
Yes, they know they could write.
Conventions stifle them.
They are always longing to get away -- Away from It All!
-- I wish to Heaven they would.
And then there are those who are always in Trouble.
Always.
Usually they have Husband-trouble.
They are Wronged.
They are the women whom nobody -- understands.
They wear faint, wistful smiles.
And, when spoken to, they start.
They begin by saying they must suffer in silence.
No one will ever know --
And then they go into details.
Then there are the Well-Informed ones.
They are pests.
They know everything on earth
And will tell you about it gladly.
They feel it their mission to correct wrong impressions
The know Dates and Middle names.
They absolutely ooze Current Events.
Oh, how they bore me.
There are the ones who simply cannot Fathom
Why all the men are mad about them.
They say they've tried and tried.
They tell you about someone's husband;
What he said
And how he looked when he said it.
And then they sigh and ask,
"My dear, what is there about me?"
-- Don't you hate them?
There are the unfailing Cheerful ones.
They are usually unmarried.
They are always busy making little Gifts
And planning little surprises.
They tell me to be, like them, always looking on the Bright Side.
They ask me what they would do without their sense of humor?
I sometimes yearn to kill them.
Any jury would acquit me.
I hate Women;
They get on my nerves.
