Although I dearly love my wife
 (And have no plans to stop),
I hate it when she makes me wait
 At Velma's Fashion Shop.

Every time she disappears
 With dresses from the rack,
The mannequins at Velma's shop
 Speak soft behind my back.

  I struggle not to notice them
 And slump within my chair
As they glare down from pedestals
 With dead flies in their hair.

But if I dare to look away,
 I hear their whispered quips
Passed along to plastic ears
 From frozen plaster lips.

Their condescending attitude
 Is one to be abhorred―
To stand in judgment of my life
 In clothes I can't afford!