I wonder if I should endeavor to find a true and worthy soul mate,
Who would join me in facing the harsh slings and arrows of fate.
Let me be spared of someone like Madeline who gazes moodily at stars in the sky,
While I yearn for smoked salmon, cheese and wine, or some bacon and egg fry.
Honoria Glossop would be prone to slapping the backs of guests with all her might,
Nudging me to perform goofy deeds without any consideration of my own plight.
Roberta Wickham would sashay up to the altar with much aplomb,
But each moment spent with her would be like a ticking bomb.
Pauline Stoker would exhort me to swim a mile before breakfast,
And then play five sets of tennis post-lunch, leaving me gasping and aghast.
Florence Craye would like to mould me into an intellectual cove,
Being a fine example of cerebral excellence I detest and abhor.
Stiffy Byng might just make me pinch the helmet of a constable,
Only guests meeting Bartholomew’s approval would end up at our dining table.
The Wooster Code prohibits me adding more to this list,
The brainier ones amongst you would have by now got the gist.
Ideal mate for me would be lissome, endowed with a generous helping of grey cells,
Feeding enough fish to Jeeves who can protect us when life rings its sinister bells.
Someone who would dish up a seven course Anatole meal with a magic wand,
Ensure a liberal supply of tissue restoratives with pick-me-ups always at hand.
Keeping my house clear of invading cousins, cats, dogs and aunts,
My life free of silver cow creamers, speeches to school kids and Pa Bassett’s taunts.
Fussing over me like my cousin Angela, a spiritual view on life she would possess,
Supporting all my endeavors to enliven life and to help my pals in distress.
In matters of attire and appearance, she would keep Jeeve’s admonitions at bay,
A stiff upper lip upholding the pride of the Woosters, making life joyous and gay.
An occasional sojourn to the Drones to hone my skills in darts she would not mind,
Keeping the milk of human kindness sloshing about within me in a soft bind.
Warm and cosy evenings may see me acting like the perfect preux chevalier,
Cuddling small ones the prattle of whose feet would make the house livelier.
Jeeves’ feudal spirit would ensure that the Wooster millions remain safe and secure,
The right mate chosen and banns announced, heart overflowing with love pure.
The day we walk down the aisle dispelling many a nymph’s father’s dreary gloom,
God would be in heaven, a benevolent sun shining, birds chirping, flowers in bloom.
As winter turns to spring, my thoughts invariably assume a romantic hue,
Let me consult Jeeves; yes, your opinion on this fruity scheme is also overdue.
(This post was composed prior to the advent of the ‘Jeeves and the Wedding Bells’ era)
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I wonder if I should endeavor to find a true and worthy soul mate,
ashokbhatia 