From the introductory to Men I'm Not Married To By Dorothy Parker: No matter where my route may lie, No matter whither I repair, In brief -- no matter how or why Or when I go, the boys are there. On lane and byways, street and square, On alley, path and avenue, They seem to spring up everywhere-- The men I am not married to. I watch them as they pass me by; At each in wonderment I stare, And, "but for heaven's grace," I cry, "There goes the guy whose name I'd ear!" They represent no species rare, They walk and talk as others do; They're fair to see -- but only fair-- The men I am not married to. I'm sure that to a mother's eye Is each potentially a bear. But though at home they rank ace-high, No change of heart could I declare. Yet worry silvers not their hair; They deck them not with sprigs of rue. It's curious how they do not care-- The men I am not married to. L'Envoi In fact, if they'd a chance to share Their lot with me, a lifetime through, They'd doubtless tender me the air -- The men I am not married to.

From the introductory to Women I'm Not Married To By Franklin P. Adams: "Whene'er I take my walks" -- you know The rest -- "abroad," I always meet Elaine or Maude or Anne or Flo, Belinda, Blanche, or Marguerite; And Melancholy, bittersweet, Sets seal upon me when I view -- Coldly, and from a judgment seat -- The women I'm not married to. Not mine the sighs for Long Ago; Not mine to mourn the obsolete; With Burns and Shelley, Keats and Poe I have no yearning to compete. No Dead Sea pickled pears I eat; I never touch a drop of rue; I toast, and drink my pleasure neat, The women I'm not married to! Fate with her celebrated blow Frequently knocks me off my feet; And Life her dice box chucks a throw That usually has me beat. Yet although Love has tried to treat Me rough, award the kid his due. Look at the list, though incomplete: The women I'm not married to. L'Envoi My dears whom gracefully I greet, Gaze at these lucky ladies who Are of -- to make this thing concrete -- The women I'm not married to.