Feed the Brute

Oh, mercy! Is it five o’clock? Why, hello, Arthur, dear.
Just on time. The rubber’s finished. And I’ve lost again, I fear.
What am I owing Gertrude? Fifteen shillings? ’Fraid it’s so.
That’s two pounds ten I’m down this week; and two more days to go.
Oh, please don’t fidget, Arthur! We’ll be home with hours to spare.
If you can’t keep the car a while, lend me a taxi fare.
What have we got for dinner? How like a man. Dear me!
It’s your favorite, Arthur, darling. You’ll see.

Will you be at Maud’s on Friday, Grace? Yes, dear, it’s rather far.
What can poor women do whose men won’t buy a second car?
Arthur says we can’t afford it. Isn’t that just like a man?
If he’ll cut his club expenses, I am almost sure we can.
Oh, we keep economising. But there’s bridge and golf and shows.
My own housekeeping money goes like water, Heaven knows.
Oh, Arthur! Don’t be greedy! Dinner won’t be very late.
It’s your favorite, Arthur darling! You wait.

Thanks so much, Gertrude dearest, for the lovely afternoon.
My place next week. I must win back some of my losses soon.
Where was it, Grace, you told me that you saw that stunning hat?
Only five guineas! Arthur, dear, you’ll have to buy me that.
Oh, please forget your dinner. There’s no need to throw a fit.
You’ve had your lunch; and I’m quite sure I couldn’t eat a bit.
And I’ve only nibbled savories, and chocolate, and cake.
You’ll have your favorite at home. All ready in a shake.

Oh, those savories, dear Gertrude. What delicious things they are.
I’ll just jot down the recipe. Arthur, you start the car.
Olives, you say? . . . Oh, drat the man! What ails my husband now
Outside there? He can’t start it? Heavens! What a shocking row!
He always lets the thing get cold when I am in a rush.
’Fraid I must fly. Goodbye, dears . . . Arthur! Please! Such language! Hush!

No need to lose your temper. I’ll soon have the table spread.
Your dinner! I keep telling you. Your favorite. Fried bread.