I could have danced all night.
I could have danced all night.
And still have begged for more.

Oh, please, Professor Higgins! Pretty please! Yes, I realize the sun is coming up, and the orchestra has left, and your legs are swollen like sausages inside your seersucker pants. But this is the first time I've ever been to such a marvelous fete, and I really don't want to leave.

Yes, I realize the only people left are the serving help. I realize they've stopped serving champagne, and the canapés are all gone except for some dried-out pizza rolls. Yes, I realize Lord and Lady Walthorpe, our hosts, have long since retired, but they said we could stay forever if we wanted. Yeah, ya dolt, I know what sarcasm is.

But that doesn't mean we have to go home. Does it? Either dance with me or get me a pizza roll.

Oh, you bastard. I should have known you'd be a wet blanket. Well, go home! I don't need you. An unplucked flower like me can find plenty of obliging gentlemen. Hey, Jorge! Wanna see a real lady do the Forbidden Dance? Oh, get back here, you bastard. I ain't the INS.

C'mon, please. Just one dance? We don't need no orchestra. I got bangin' tunes on my iPod. I promise I won't say one word about your breath. I won't call you Miss Higgy for an entire month.

Aw, c'mon. Hey, getta loada dis. I learned it from another swell gentleman who instructed me just prior to yourself. He also tried to transform me from an uncouth scullerymaid into a lady fit for society, and he din't have no untoward interest in me neither. He spent a whole season following Michael Flatley around Ireland too.

Fine. Okay. If that's the way you want it, that's how it'll be. I sure hope, though, that while I'm dancing with somebody else I don't accidentally tell them that youz be starin' at Rhett whenever you pause your Gone with the Wind DVD.

Goddammit. Okay, I'm sorry. Now you done gone and changed me back into a tramp, youz got me so mad. I just wanted to dance, ya bastard. I practiced. I got my Riverdance moves. Sure, I don't exactly look like one of yer hoity-toity ladies, but see if any of them can crack a walnut between her thighs.

Fuck y'all. GO HOME. I can find my own ride. Hey, Paco! C'mere a minute. Christ, does the border patrol wear seafoam crinoline around here?