Frustration

Women frustrate me, like Frito bags dipped in engine grease; quite unsolvable. But I love them regardless, queens or hags; life without them would be improbable, with their constant nags and lovable chaffs, their love for jeans that cost more than my car. They are good for company, smiles and laughs- just make sure you pay for their drinks at the bar. But I grow tired of the games that they play Failures have led my patience to decay. One took a jackhammer straight to my heart The other chopped me up like liver tart now I suppose I would prefer a man they are much easier to understand.