Her guy, she declared, should be tall,
with broad shoulders for her to cry on,
He should be good-looking and funny
but with other girls, shy and withdrawn.
No childish tantrums and cold looks,
He should be even-tempered and mild,
With her mum, so loving and kind but
with muggers he’d be strong and wild.
A great smoocher he should be and
if he’s an adept dancer it’d be a plus,
And if she did spend much of his money,
he wouldn’t dream of making a fuss.
When she thinks she has got him
And thanks her lucky fate,
He turns to look at her and say,
“You are not my perfect mate”.
