I’m Just a Square Peg in the Social Circle

Sometimes, I get writers block. At the moment, it’s mixed with a little apathy and tempered with low level SAD. A recipe for ‘meh’.
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At times like this, I like to remember the wisdom of Betty Hutton as I try to navigate social situations without letting the mask slip.

After all, you’re a lacklustre guest if you hide behind the curtains all night – as Elizabeth Gaskell remarked about her friend, Charlotte Bronte.

If this fails, there’s always Net à Porter. Although I tend to look at it in private – much as suburban dads do porn.

A Square Peg in the Social Circle

When I was young I found it grim,
To gurgle in the social swim.
The do’s and don’ts and lah di-dahs
To me were just a lot of blah.

I used my silver spoon at birth,
For throwing meatballs at my nurse.
I always chose to thumb my nose,
At smarty clothes and party pose.

I’ve ditched the rich and sable set,
To join the kitchen table set.
But much to my regret,
I can’t mingle with the social set.

I used the wrong fork,
at the Stork in New York,
My manners ain’t fit for a goop.
I’m just a square in the social circle.
Who put that fly in my soup?

I’d rather go out,
with a lout to a bout,
Than sleep in a symphony hall.
I’m just a square in the social circle.
Who knocked my gum off that wall?

When the utterly utter,
flows like butter,
I want to start pitching a curve.
With a silly old blighter,
on a first nighter,
I feel like a pickled hors d’oeuvres,
no verve!

I never felt gay in a fancy beret,
Or wear a babushka or burse.
I’m just a square in the social circle.
Finger bowls irk me the worst,
They just don’t quench my thirst.

Mrs. Vanderpuss will greet me
With a fourteen karat shout.
“My dear, you’ve simply got to come
To my daughter’s coming out”
Her daughter is a Frankenstein
A dracula in mink.
When she comes out,
each stag will shout
“Gadzooks, I need a drink!”

I’d dined and clubbed,
I’ve elbow rubbed,
from Yonkers to Cheyenne.
‘Foo’ to you bud,
take your blue blood
And stick it in your fountain pen.

I wanna brush,
all the blush in the gush.
I’d rather get left than be right!
I’m just a square in the social circle.
Anyone here wanna fight?

None of me fits,
with the wits at the Ritz.
I’d rather relax on a stool.
I’m just a square in the social circle.
Anyone wanna shoot pool?

When a cookie with cabbage
gets too savage,
I’ll wrestle him three out of four.
I would rather a sailor,
hop in my trailer.
And show me his nautical lore,
Why sure!

The ladies in frills,
only fill me with chills.
They’re soft as a ball of chenille!
I’m just a square in the social circle
I’ve got a muscle of steel!
Anyone here want to feel?

I’m as square as a pear,
in a boutonniere.
Fancy silk won’t stay on!
I’m designed for rayon
But I just don’t seem to care,
I’m a square!

Betty Hutton, 1945.

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