You shouldn't judge a book by its lover
I wasn't under the impersonation you meant me
I'll be ready in a jitney
You could have knocked me over with a fender! (to which her wry husband might reply, sotto voce, "Hmmmm, there's an idea . . . ")
I felt bad for those people in those old testament houses
Now, there's no use crying over spoiled milk
I'm completely uninhabited
After all, I am his awfully-wedded wife
I've always had the smell of goose grease in my blood. I've always wanted to see my name up in tights
He blew up higher than a hall
I look like the wrath of grapes
He has me sitting on pins and cushions waiting
After all, I am a member of the weeper sex
I don't smoke or drink, I'm a totalitarian
I always say a wife has to take the bitter with the better
The way things are these days, a girl's gotta play hard to take.
Goodman and Jane Ace, 1935 . . .