Breathes there a gal so untrue to her sex
Who, right till the story’s completed,
Doesn’t drive this point home all the way thru the tome:
Every male she has met is conceited?
And show me the hero who isn’t convinced
That (maybe excepting his mother)
All females are dopes, and he earnestly hopes
He never meets up with another.
So we come to the reason why fiction is read:
The reader hangs on to see whether
The writer can mass, with this super-impasse,
Two such extremists together!
by Ray Romine Monday, February 4, 1952
