In my blue suit I’m waiting patiently,
I’ve never been good as like this.
I’ve been ready for a while for this recurrence,
of your white dress and of the fatal yes, but..
something is not right and you’re so nervous,
that’s why I’m on the sofa peacefully.
With your temper if I said something
you’d sent me to limbo and goodbye to tranquility.
By now it’s eight o’clock, the seamstress is nowhere to be seen,
she should have been here this morning, seems to me.
To crown it all, your chignon is becoming entangled and doesn’t give.
Additional reason to make us be late.
If it continues like this to the evening at the theatre and the writer, fashionably, I’ll wave goodbye to them for you.
Goodbye, more than Anouilh, than Anouilh perhaps to Sartre,
I don’t recall any more but I have the tickets.
Happy anniversary.
Happy anniversary.
Your dress is here, finally you can breathe.
For solidarity I help you the best way I know.
Everything is ready, but no, while you’re breathing
your zipper stops halfway.
We get a bit nervous while I’m pushing and you’re pulling,
both of us trying to getting ourselves out of the mess
but, as luck would have it, in spite of your sighs,
with all hopes, the material goes out.
At about eleven o’clock we go out, you’re ready.
People are already leaving the theatre.
“Let’s go for dinner, come on, the comedy doesn’t matter”.
But now you don’t feel like it and ask to go back home.
In the street we walk in silence,
you smile, I kiss you and smile back.
The evening? Not a chance, it is not what matters,
what does is loving each other like I love you and like you love me.
Happy anniversary.
Happy anniversary.
Happy anniversary.