What in all in heaven
can have prompted her to go,
after such a triumph
at the ball?
What could have de
pressed her?
What could have possessed her?
I cannot understand the wretch
at all.
Women are irrational,
that's all there is to that.
Their heads are full
of cotton, hay and rag.
They're nothing but exasperating, irritating,
vacillating, calculating, agitating,
maddening and infuriating hares.
Pickering,
why can't a woman
be more like a man?
Hmm? Yes.
Why can't a woman be
more like a man?
Men are so honest,
so thoroughly square,
Eternally noble, historically fair,
who, when you win,
will always give your back a pat.
Why can't a woman be like that?
Why does everyone do
what the others do?
Can't a woman learn to
use her head?
Why do they do everything
their mothers do?
Why don't they grow up
like their father instead?
I why can't a woman take after a man?
Men are so pleasant,
so easy to please.
Whenever you're with them,
you're always at ease.
Would you be slighted
if I didn't speak for hours?
Of course not.
Would you be livid if I had a
drink or two?
Nonsense.
Would you be wounded
if I never sent you flowers?
Never.
Why can't a woman be like you?
One man in a million may shout a bit.
Now and then
there's one with slight defects,
One, perhaps, whose truthfulness
you doubt a bit,
But by and large we are a
marvellous sex.
Why can't a woman be
have like a man?
Men are so friendly,
good -natured and kind,
A better companion you never will find.
If I were hours late for dinner,
would you burrow?
Of course not.
If I forgot your silly birthday,
would you fuss?
Nonsense.
Would you complain
if I took out another fellow?
Never!
Why can't a woman be like us?
Mrs. Pierce, you're a woman.
Why can't a woman be
more like a man?
Men are so decent,
such reg ular chaps.
Ready to help you through
any mis haps.
Ready to buck you up
whenever you are glum.
Why can't a woman be a chum?
Why is thinking something
women never do?
Why is logic never even tried?
Straightening up their hair
is all they ever do.
Why don't they straighten
up
the mess that's inside?
Why can't a woman be more like a man?
If I was a woman who'd been to a ball,
been hailed as a princess
by one and by all,
Would I start weeping
like a bathtub overflowing?
Carry on as if my home
were in a tree?
Would I run off
and never tell me where I'm going?
Why can't a woman be like me?