Fantasy women don’t do dishes –
You won’t find one in a rut,
Who’ll clean up after any man
Has lost the contents of his gut.
In her fantastic world,
The marble’s always shiny
The carpet is always fresh
Her hair always falls divinely
About more than perfect breasts.
That erotic vixen
You wish that you could touch
Won’t make you tuna casserole
She doesn’t like it much.
She won’t pick out your ties
Or show up to PTA
Or wipe the snot off junior’s nose
Before he goes to play.
Fantasy girls don’t do that
It doesn’t work that way.
They don’t scrub behind the toilet
They don’t vacuum every day.
And when the new Ferrari
Needs bird droppings washed away
They’re posing in the driveway
Half naked, with the spray.
Some other wet hard-body
Can deal with seagull stuff
All those sexual gyrations
Are really quite enough.
So, keep vanquishing the dragon
To save that maiden fair
Who turns into a lusty virgin
For you to take her then and there.
Face it, you know how it goes –
When you’re both spent and out of breath –
Sooner or later you’ll have to stop
To keep from starving to death.
And while it’s true their only mood swings
Go from vavoom to bumpity
There’s something to be said for the gal
Who knows when to leave you be.
When relatives come to visit
And it’s time to say goodnight,
Do you really want your fantasy
Slip the tongue to Uncle Dwight?
Perhaps extended family
Will be amused; at least a bit
When she comes to the supper table
In that too-cute see-through outfit.
No, we mere mortal women
Have no need to worry away
When it comes to his fantasy lover;
They merely visit with her,
but they’re here with us, to stay.