She had a lovely smile on her made-up face,
A pretty dress that looked like lace.
Nice stockings and high-heel shoes…
I’d thought that she was adequately special.

Marjorie… I thought she might have been the one.
I don’t think of myself as fussy—not at all.
But she had… poor personal hygiene.
Abiding things like that is not my forte.

And love shouldn’t smell of yesterday’s regrets,
Or faint perspiration round the silhouette.
I need a woman starched and fully pressed,
Emotionally tidy… and orally blessed.

So I smiled… and said I’d call again sometime.
She said, “Don’t bother, Roger… truth be told?
You’re a bit too stiff for me.”
…Perhaps she had a point.