The Distaff Side

Women are a conundrum,
Oh, they’re a mystery,
They really make no sense at all,
To fellows such as me.

One moment they are happy,
The next, they’ve got the blues,
They have the strangest mood swings,
And what’s with all those shoes?

They fret on their appearance,
And raise a lot of fuss,
They worry that their butt looks big,
When they look fine to us.

They have no sense of humor,
At least, like you and me,
They don’t laugh at the Brothers Marx,
Nor at the Stooges Three.

They don’t like Stan and Ollie,
They don’t like Bud and Lou,
They’d rather watch a chick flick,
Does that make sense to you?

They buy the strangest objects,
For reasons no one knows,
Guest towels no one uses,
Throw pillows no one throws.

They hate a messy kitchen,
There’s nothing could be worse,
They know where everything belongs,
Except down in their purse.

Yes, ladies are a strange breed,
A colossal mystery,
But they look and smell and feel good,
And that’s good enough for me.