She had her non-manicured claws
On that pretty chiffon scarf
She looked at it
With lustful eyes
The thing that I wanted the most
And the one I’d never let her buy
I walk over to her, swiftly and with purpose
With a sly smile
I whisper meaningfully in her ear
“I don’t mean to be offensive or curt
But if you touch it, you’ll get hurt
Leave it honey and just walk away
I saw it first, it has my name”
In the glory of her smugness she basks
She raises an eyebrow. “Or what?” She asks.
Eyes narrow, nostrils flare
Balled up fists and murderous glares
My hair’s just done, and my shoes are new
My nails are freshly painted in blue
Some of them shiver and others scoff
As I say the most clichéd dialog
How many times have you heard that before?
“Hold my purse, this is war.”
“Hold my purse, this is war.”
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