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It’s Saturday night and the sun has just set,
We all want to go to the bar.
But wait just a second, we cannot leave yet;
If we do, we won’t get very far.
The eternal debate starts sweeping our flat:
To wear boots, ballet pumps, or high heels?
It takes half an hour to decide only that
Not one of these options appeals…
But after two hours and plenty of gin,
We’re off, looking gorgeously chic,
To only be told we’re too late to get in,
And to try and be quicker next week.