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She lightens my sadness,
She livens my days,
She bursts with a kind of madness
My well-ordered ways.
My happiest mistake, the ache of my life:
You must meet my wife.
She bubbles with pleasure,
She glows with surprise,
Disrupts my accustomed leisure
And ruffles my ties.
I don't know even now quite how it began.
You must meet my wife, my Anne.
One thousand whims to which I give in,
Since her smallest tear turns me ashen.
I never dreamed that I could live in
So completely demented, contented a fashion.
So sunlike, so winning,
So unlike a wife.
I do think that I'm beginning
To show signs of life.
If you met my wife, you'd know.
Dear Fredrik,
I'm just longing to meet her.
Sometime.
She sparkles...
How pleasant.
She twinkles...
How nice.
Whatever the price.
Light
You must meet my wife.
Yes, I must. I really must.
She flutters.
How charming.
She twitters.
My word
She floats.
Isn't that alarming
What is she, a bird
A very old man.
No
I must meet your Gertrude.
My Anne.
She loves my voice, my walk, my mustache,
The cigar, in fact, that I'm smoking.
She'll watch me puff until it's just ash,
Then she'll save the cigar butt.
Bizarre, but
You're joking.
Your dimple.
My snoring.
How dear.
The point is, she's really simple.
Yes, that much seems clear.
Like
Old Dry-as-Dust.
Wouldn't she just
You must meet my wife.
Yes, I must, yes, I must.
A sea of whims that I submerge in,
Yet so loveable in repentance.
Unfortunately still a virgin,
Don't finish that sentence
She's monstrous
She's frightened.
Unfeeling
Unversed.
No, I'd strike her first.
Her crust
No
Yes
No
Fredrik
You must meet my wife.
Let me get my hat and my knife
What was that
I must meet your wife.
Yes, you must.
Yes, I must.
