Im Feuerstrom der Reben

She said we could get married, but no más,
So I demanded food, and right away,
Since sex was off the table for the day.
She then administered the coup de grâce
When I imbibed a little too much kvas,
While celebrating with too much foreplay:
“No, touch me here,” is what I heard her say,
“And nothing more — none of your mishigas.”

I moaned, complained, and I began to grouse
That she was mean to me. She just agreed,
And said she hoped she’d planted one small seed
Of good behaviour. “When you leave the house,
Sing the Champagne song from Die Fledermaus
And learn from that.” Since then, that is my creed.