She enters the room in a cloud of perfume,
Her bracelets jangling an irksome tune.
Her hair swirls round her rougéd face
A strand here and there is out of place.
She knows what she wants, what she wants is a man;
To achieve this end she’s conceived a plan.
Her plot is well-laid, her look is quite frantic;
She’s decided to play the hopeless romantic.
She takes on the air of Blance DuBois,
The Juicy Fruit™ working within her two jaws.
Her eyes are vacant, her head thrown back
To better display her pencil-width neck.
She’s ready to steal a man from his wife,
His hearth and his home, his humdrum life.
Her dream is to be the great love of her era,
A reincarnation of the late Theda Bara.
She spies an accountant, a full CPA,
She’s not at a loss for sweet things to say.
She opens her mouth as if to drool
And says breathlessly—“Kiss me, you fool.”
The guy looks her up, then down and sideways.
He’s not quite prepared for a human sachet.
He lowers his voice to be more discreet,
Then says to her softly “How’s your balance sheet?”
She’s shocked that he’d question her financial condition.
To hell with bean-counters, he can go to perdition!
She slaps him and lurches along the buffet—
She’ll never again vamp a CPA.
Her next target’s one with an air of assurance;
He sells both life and auto insurance.
She figures she’ll take him to romantic school;
With a sultry dark air she says “Kiss me, you fool.”
The fellow assesses the risk and the premium;
He sizes her up but won’t fall for her schemium.
“Your charms, I agree, are quite ineluctable—
But first I must ask—how high’s your deductible?”
Her face turns bright red, then she blushes entirely–
She’s not met a man so completely un-squirely!
She spins on her heel, her tears ‘bout to choke her—
All coquetry’s wasted on an insurance broker.
And then, ‘long the wall, she sees a new prospect;
A reticent man with an erudite aspect.
He seems rather nice, not a jock or a tool.
So she tries once again: “Kiss me, you fool!”
He gives her a look, and takes off his glasses
And blithely succumbs to her manic passes.
The guy was a fan of the silent screen
And would fall for that line almost sight unseen.
Moral: If you want to be a hit, throw your pitch to the right batter.