I sigh not for the charms of an houri; and curling hair I shall not crave. Yea, though one husband be all that is granted unto me in this day of Progressive Matrimony, I shall not murmur.
Though my waist-line increaseth, year by year, and my teeth depart one by one, I shall not be cast down. For, a cheerful disposition shall sustain me, and the smile that cometh not off shall keep me charming.
Though chorus girls marry above me; though I never build mine own bungalow; though my frocks be made over, and my complexion made up, I shall not repine.
For, behold, I shall not take myself seriously, neither be filled with false illusions concerning men.
Lo, a woman that regardeth herself seriously is a human joke; and a woman that dallyeth with illusions is as a babe that played with matches. She burneth her own fingers.
Though my cooking be deadly, and my shoes “number fives” I shall not despair. For a sense of humor shall cover me as a mackintosh, off which the lemons, that fate casteth at me, shall roll as water. Verily, verily, a woman without a sense of humor is as one that goeth into New Jersey clad in lace hose. She layeth herself bare to constant stings; she suffereth untold pangs.
Then grant me, I pray thee, this one panacea:
That I may laugh when men laugh, and the point of their jokes shall not escape me.
That I may not tremble at their wrath; neither wither under their sarcasm, nor repine at their grouches.
And that, all the days of my youth, I shall dwell in the enjoyment of life, repartee, and the pursuit of an husband! Amen.