da dualidade de critérios — às mouras

O que eu gosto deste homem. É que é cada tiro cada melro. Ah, ela cheira mal da boca, mas eu amo-a. Ela berra comigo, mas é a mulher que o destino marcou para mim, ai, pobre de mim, que posso eu fazer, amo, estou prisioneiro... não sou dono do meu coração. Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a nonsense moment. Eu posso jurar, aliás, que a coisa menos séria que alguma vez ouvi da boca deste homem foi a tabela de Mendleïev.

She's My Girl - Tom Lehrer




And now, to the love song... I'm sure you're familiar with love songs on the order of: "he's just my Bill, my man, my Joe, my Max, and so on; where the girl who sings them tells you that although the man she loves is anti-social, alcoholic, physically repulsive, or just plain unsanitary... that, nevertheless, she is his because he is hers, or something like that. But as far as I know there has never been a popular song from the analogous male point of view, that is to say, of a man who finds himself in love with or, in this case, married to a girl who has nothing whatsoever to recommend her. I have attempted to fill this need.