Tuesday, February 10, 2004

An English assignment:

Once upon a time, not too long ago,
there lived a young woman with little pride to show.
Her name was Brenda, and she was a beauty,
but she didn't know it. That wasn't her duty.
When she walked down the street all eyes were upon her;
her eyes were on Hortense, an able-bodied creature.
Hortense knew he was hot stuff. He would strut around town,
flexing his muscles when anyone was around.
Every woman in town swooned when they saw him,
and the men all wanted to be his friend.
One day, Brenda decided her courage was ready.
She walked up to Hortense, and asked him to go steady.
She knew it was a long shot, but thought, "What the heck."
To her surprise, the beefcake said yes.
That night, they went out for dinner and a movie.
How happy she was that things were going smoothly.
Hortense talked a lot about nothing at all,
but Brenda didn't mind; she was starting to fall
head over heals for this jerk in a suit.
Though his words were all selfish, he was really a beaut.
Not once did he stop to ask about her,
but Brenda was happy enough to purr.
After many dates that all ended the same,
she knew all about him. He knew only her name.
Once again, her courage she mustered.
She mumbled incoherently, then became flustered.
"Huh?" he grunted, "What did you say?"
And Brenda repeated what she'd tried to convey.
"Will you marry me, Hortense? You're my perfect fit.
We've been together a while, and I think this is it."
"I'll marry you, Brenda, if you do one thing for me.
My name cannot belong to one so portly as thee.
You say you're only one-fifteen pounds? I need less
to fit into my life, or any wedding dress."
"Anything for you, said Brenda. "It's a deal!"
And off she ran to dispose of her meal.
One hundred, ninety, eighty-five pounds:
Brenda wasted away her life for a gown.
She asked him again, "Dear Hortense of mine,
I think that I'm ready for your love this time."
"Oh no," said Hortense, "I don't think that you are.
Your nose has grown to the size of a car.
Get that whittled down, and then we'll see
Just how great your love is for me."
So Brenda consulted a surgeon from Saxony.
He mutilated her nose until she looked "Michael Jackson-y."
Once more she asked Hortense of wedding bells;
as he answered, her tears began to well.
"I'll do it now, because you've tried
to make yourself a glorious bride.
But be forewarned, I'm into guys.
Don't think you've won yourself a prize."
The day of the wedding, she waits by the altar,
but no beefcake, no hunk, no Hortense is there.
She had to have known, it was so obvious.
He ran off with the priest and left her in the dust.
The moral of this story, I suppose
is don't spite your face by cutting off your nose,
for you may become "Michael Jackson-y" too,
and then no one will marry you.

.:dr0wningophelia:. 18:11 | |