128 My kind of German

“Nietzsche didn’t have a girlfriend, did he?”
“Nooooooooo, but to make the play work, you see.”
“Ah!” The Patron of the Arts threw her head back.
“So I’ve borrowed – it’s legal, I’m told – the music from other musicals – that’s kind of a signature of my play – and this is how it goes, my original lyrics set to ‘My Kind of Girl’ if you know that song. ‘Ta ta da And my mind’s in a kind of whirl, To my mind she’s my kind of girl da ta ta. So here’s a snippet from mine:
“‘And your eyes are so deep and squirmin’, To my mind you’re my kind of German.’
“And there’s that kind of chorus-y stuff, they sing but it’s dialogue, not really a melody. So this is sort of representative of my tone, the tone of the play:
“The mayor of a little Swiss town is singing this:
“‘This man is kind of strange
“‘We never see him change
“‘He always wears dark suits
“‘And little tiny boots’
“Then the whole village opens their doors and windows and shout-sings:
“‘These aren’t the clothes we’d have chosen!
“‘Let’s buy Herr Nietzsche some lederhosen!'”
Agog for a moment, the Patron of the Arts only managed, “Wow!”
“Thanks, Pota!” Pyp smiled brightly, raising her above and, in the Patron of the Art’s equable opinion, beyond her churlish ilk.


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