"It's a great line." I repeated it, singsonging. "Tea, girls, warm and sweet - some are set up in the Somerset Maugham suite."
"Yes, it is, dear."
He did not truly see. But he would. Oh, he would.
The only cure for an earworm, in my case, is to hear the song.
That was at 8 AM.
It's now 2 PM. I just now had the opportunity to listen to the song.
So he's had an entire morning and early afternoon of "I'd let you watch, I would invite you, but the queens we use would not excite you. So you'd better go back to your bars, your temples... your massage parlors..." and "I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine."
"You do not."
"Well, some of them. It's a drag, it's a bore, it's really such a pity to be looking at the board, not looking at the city..."
He tried to spank it out of me. Didn't work. I was gasping "The creme de - ah! la creme of - ah! - the chess world - ah! - in a show with..."
I am remarkably self-possessed, you see.
But I have heard the song, and now can move on.
I just wanted to do it to you.