None of the men H-E attracted were attracted to her as a potential mother for their children.

“If she wanted that, she could have stayed back in Nebraska, or Iowa, or Des Moines, or Bucharest, or Kolkata, or Calcutta, or nudie cutie, or….” These men said, bluntly, crudely, and with very, very bad breath, if the truth was to be told.

H-E knew she had a biological clock ticking. She knew this because women educated in a public school are taught they have a biological clock ticking. A public school is a folk school. A folk school is a fool school, if you retain the l of folk, shift it left, pushing out the o and then making the place where the l had been into a k. The question now becomes: where did the k come from?

It didn’t come from a king, not in Mannahattas, Nebraska, Iowa, or Bucharest. It might have come from a Mary Kay dealership, which would have made a great deal of sense to H-E, who consumed cosmetics. Artfully consumed cosmetics. Ars gratia Artis cosmetics. Plus, it was H-E’s nose powder she had artfully tossed aloof inside the extravagant dining room of 9 East 71st Street as she made her getaway. An artful powdering of the nose with rouge powder providing a smoke screen.

As she ran for the door, she didn’t exactly hear Woody Allen guffaw, though the smoke screen of moulin rouge, nose powder, had a slapstick fun — a sight gag– an explicit while also implicit– sight gag– and in fantastic cosmological 9 East 71st Street repartee– there was a big banana peel for H-E to slip on, should she want to fade away, glide, and fall on her unrepentant repartee honey ass.

This banana peel can be seen on a Velvet Underground album, cum Mannahattas.