Now I’ve been married many years,
But I can still recall
The torture that is dating, and
The wonder of it all

So many times, I’d try to do
And be the best I’m able,
Only to see my date appalled
Across the dinner table

I’m glad I never saw myself
As I seemed to some eyes;
Although, exactly how I looked
I’m sure I could surmise

For dating is a simple thing:
We look for one who’ll say
That though we are imperfect, they
Still want us anyway

And about whom, we feel the same.
There’s really no more to it:
But it’s tortuous for those
Who still choose to
Go through it