The exodus begins
When the conversation slows.
The first woman says “excuse me,
But I must powder my nose.”
The second woman joins her,
And the rest set in pursuit,
Ensuring the washroom diaspora
Never will be rendered moot.
Meanwhile, the men keep eating
But they cannot help but smile,
For through their lull in conversation
They’ve earned silence for a while.
They ogle other women
And they think about their cars
And how women would be better
If they also came from Mars.
And once the ladies finish
Their powdering and gossip
They go back to the table
Where they face a brand-new toss up:
They can keep on talking
Or be silent like the men.
Thus the guys pretend to listen
‘Til conversation slows again.
The Daily Travesty 