(Note: A quid was what a one pound note was called, Australia still used the English monetary system.)
Men are what women marry.
They have two hands, two feet and sometimes two wives, but never more than one quid or idea at a time. Like Turkish cigarettes, they are all made out of the same material; the only difference is some are better distinguished than others.
Generally speaking they are divided into three classes – husbands, bachelors and widowers. A bachelor is a negligible mass of obstinacy entirely surrounded by suspicion. Widowers are remnants with possibilities. Husbands are three types, prizes, surprises and consolation prizes.
Taking a husband out of a man is one of the highest forms of plastic art known to this civilisation. It requires science, sculpture, commonsense, faith hope and charity – mostly charity.
It is a psychological marvel that a small, tender, soft, violet-scented thing like a woman should enjoy kissing a big, awkward, stubby-chinned, tobacco and bay rum-scented thing like a man.
If you flatter a man, you frighten him to death. If you don’t you bore him to death. If you permit him to make love to you, he gets tired of you in the end, and if you don’t he gets tired of you in the beginning.
If you believe him in everything, he says you cease to charm him. If you believe all he tells you he thinks you a fool. If you don’t he thinks you are a cynic.
If you wear gay clothes, rouge and a startling hat, he hesitates to take you out, but if you wear a little brown beret and a tailor-made suit, he takes you out and stares all evening at a woman in gay clothes, rouge and a startling hat.
If you join him in his gaieties and approve of his drinking, he swears you are leading him to the devil. If you don’t approve of his drinking and urge him to give up his gaieties, he vows you are driving him to the devil.
If you are the clinging-vine type, he doubts whether you have a brain. If you are a modern, advanced, intelligent woman, he doubts whether you have a heart. If you are silly, he longs for a bright play-mate brilliant and intellectual. If you are popular with men, he is jealous, and if you aren’t, he hesitates to marry a wallflower.
Man is just a worm in the dust ... he comes along, wriggles around for a while, and finally, some chicken gets him.