When I was a lad of twenty or so
Hanging around the house, detached,
My mother would ask me why I didn’t go
Out with nice girls in town, unattached.
“Like who?” I asked with a skeptical note
and a voice that resembled a bark;
“Someone you know,” she said and I quote:
“That sweet little Bethany Farks.”
I burst out in laughter and threw back my head,
I nearly choked and my face turned red.
My mirth was excessive, perhaps, seen from now,
But the lass in question had the dread Unibrow.
“You’ve got to be kidding—Bethany Farks?
She has a set of eyebrows like Groucho Marx!”
Mom wouldn’t relent, she called Beth a highbrow
who played the piano, “and she’s plucked her eyebrows!”
“Oh, mother, come on!” I said with a grin.
She countered and said “She has lovely skin,”
Which is sorta like praise for a girl’s personality
To most guys I know, a romantic legality.
“Won’t you please give her a try, just once, for me?”
She said through a mother’s tears.
Her nightmare was that I’d stay single and free,
No grandkids from me was her fear.
“All right,” I said, “I’ll give Beth a call,”
But just for mom’s sake, to please her;
Chicks with Synophrys I don’t like at all
Perhaps, I thought, I’ll bring my tweezers.
I put the thing off for many a day,
Hesitating, never calling.
My mom told Beth’s mom I would call, not may;
I’m sure Beth perceived I was stalling.
When finally I worked up the nerve to drop by
Imagine my shock and surprise:
Beth came out the door with some other guy
Her brows trimmed to clear a path ‘tween her eyes.
“Beth,” I exclaimed, “my mother was right–
The difference I see is like day and night!”
She eyed my quite coldly, and without remorse;
It was too late for me her brows to endorse.
“You’re so narrow-minded, you human beef jerky.
Monobrow’s considered attractive in Turkey.
I hate and despise you, you’re so freaking shallow
You can’t dig me just ‘cause I look like Frida Kahlo.”
Moral: Attraction, like baseball, is a game of inches.