Socks with flip-flops, Can't even mop. Grows a mustache, Not enough cash. Too much make-up, Too small a cup. Not a good lay, Won't even stay. Such are my deal breakers, Tell me, any takers ? Values, morals, too petty things To account for in my flings.

One, two, three, one, two, three, another young lady discarded, stumbling to find her balance after the sudden loss of her support, the prince's body. She lifts hopeful eyes on him, rosy cheeked from having waltzed with the prince, in her own living room at that, but the prince's pinched frown already said it all. Still not the woman from the ball. Off he went, wasting no more time here. There were many more women to dance with until he found the one, the one who would perfectly match his partner from the ball. The rhythm of her steps, the weight of her hand on his arm, the only elusive clues leading his quest. One, two, three, one, two, three, the prince's step faltered, not even gracing this new lady one glance before leaving. Still not the right one, many more women to dance with, even as his feet radiated pain and soreness. One, two, three, one, two, three, this lady hardly dared to lean on the prince for support in the dance, lest his gaunt and frail figure give way under her weight. As he hurried out of her house, unsatisfied, she thought she heard his advisor begging him to take a break in his quest. One, two, three, one, two, three, his legs knew no other movements than the six steps of the waltz, his body tuned for one piece only. Still, he recognized neither rhythm nor hand on his arm in the countless ladies who had spun in his hold. One, two, three, one-