I love romance and romantic musicals, especially from the 40s and 50s. One that I never really took to, though, was South Pacific. The song, Some Enchanted Evening, sets up unrealistic expectations about love at first sight. (Never mind the hundreds of other musicals that set up unrealistic expectations of love at first sight…) So I rewrote the song for the modern woman which, while maybe more depressing, is a sight more realistic than whatever lovey-dovey bull Rodgers and Hammerstein were slinging back then.
Here is:”A Disenchanted Evening:
Some disenchanted evening, you will see a stranger,
You’ll see many strangers across a crowded bar,
Some tall and some short, rich ones and poor
All trying to chat you up while you try not to snore.
Some disenchanted evening, someone will cop a feel,
Someone will grab your butt, and you will throat punch them
It’s not 1950 anymore and you’re self-actualized, not a toy,
The sound of their whining and gasping, will bring such joy.
Why didn’t you stay home? You’ll ask yourself many times.
Foolish and hopeful, you know you prefer Netflix guys!
Some disenchanted evening, you’ll not find your true love,
He’s not at a crowded pub in a smoke-filled room,
So fly far away, stay at home in your sweats binging TV
It’s better to dream alone than be saddled with a man-baby.
Once you’ve found the perfect series, binge until you’re done,
Once you have found it, you will never be alone!
I wish there were a dry cleaner for the soul
Wait ten minutes, we’ll mend any holes!
Clean out the soot, remove all the stains
Have it back in a flash, free from all pain.
But then what would I do with a soul sparkling clean?
While my thoughts are riddled, ugly and mean
This pure soul would take a look at the shell
Who’d housed it in good, yet brought it through hell.
It would want to flee, fly far from its home
But knowing to do so would leave me to roam
Without a beacon, some promise of hope
Body without soul is unable to cope
Instead of fleeing into the light
My soul would give over with nary a fight
And so I’d be saddled once more with a hole
Which used to be, once, a beautiful soul.
(C) Sara Ackerman, 2019