The Question

There is one question that all men fear
It puts us in an awkward position
Whatever answer we attempt to give
Will be against her intuition

It’s uncanny how she always knows
When our actions are aloof
Her inbuilt radar can quickly determine
If we’re really avoiding the truth

I’ve practiced my response many times
What will her reaction be?
It’s like playing Russian roulette
With her pistol eyes targeting me

Perhaps I could have a coughing fit
To distract her from my reply
Or inform her of my sudden urge
To prune my hobby Bonsai

I could delay my answer
By throwing it back in her court
What do you think? I’d ask
With my gutless manly retort

But when it comes to the fairer sex
They’re as cunning as a cat
They’ll simply repeat the question
For they have immediately smelt a rat

I am happy now, the solution is found
I’ll quickly move overseas
When next in front of the mirror she asks
Does my bum look big in these?