Call me old fashioned, think it strange

That when I see a man, I espy not his charm,

For I’ve learned that man’s nature is not sacrifice

Nor is his desire held in refrain.

Call me strict, or perhaps too harsh

When I scrutinize the men God puts in my path

To see if they have perceived their heavenly worth

And if the world is not their life’s teacher.

It’s odd, I know. I’m a dreamer.

But four-fifths of pearls are hardly worth a buck.

So can I ask a question, before you object?

How about three, so you understand me?

If a man doesn’t hold the door

On a simple first date, or in front of his peers,

Then how do you know, when you despair life itself,

That he will choose to hold your tear-stained hand?

If a man won’t compliment you

When you spend more than an hour getting ready,

How can you say he’ll tell you that you’re still lovely,

While grappling in the postpartum abyss?

And if a man wants the check split

Though he was the one who offered to take you out,

Then how do you know–tell me now, how do you know—

That he will show up to support your dreams?

Call me crazy. Maybe I’m weird.

And I’m sure you’ve wracked up plenty concerns to list.

But forty percent of weddings precede divorce

And Mama didn’t raise a gambler.