Humour of a long past singleton

I wrote the following a long time past and though the haircolour isn't factual I can say My wife and I often frequented the same early morning "discotheques".

I must also for completeness state that certain names have been changed to protect the "perhaps" innocent!

The Wife.

When the Question came forth,
I pondered a moment, and answered with a smile,
Oh! I work for a firm of Accountants,
A deathly hush hung, like a lead balloon around my feet,
The ears of the status grabbing dolly,
And the money grabbing mutton, flapped openly in the breeze,
Only there was no breeze,
Except for Hector trying quietly to disgorge his nasal passages,
I breathed uneasily and tried nonchalantly to change ground,
And what are you doing now?
Trying my best to avoid an Accountant,
Said the gritted teeth and forced answer,
Replying with some airy fairy story, the conversation turned,
I replied with what I thought was a modicum of humour,
‘Open to offers’, ha, ha,
The feet are shifting uneasily now,
Still at home?
Er, yes,
Can’t you tell by the tank top, corduroy trousers and Ken Clarke brogues,
Silence.
Would you like a drink?
I’d be delighted and Tracy and Noreen ‘ll have a pint of cider,
So, as I return three stone lighter, feeling like a sheep at shearing,
I’m offered a cigarette,
Refusing I sit and peruse my orange juice,
I feel the burning of eyes,
And turn to find Nelly Mutton bearing down on me,
Her treble chin singing a sonata,
And her heavily Polyfilla’d face cracking under the strain,
I turn to the girls,
In relief they’ve fled to the safety of the dance floor,
Searching the bar for refuge of any kind,
I find the boys are taking turns emptying the young ones guts down the lavvie,
So you’re an Accountant?
The ‘come to bed’ eyes and the pleadings of interest,
Drive a wedge in my brain,
What kind?
Certified!
I’d ‘bloody’ have to be,
So as I made my excuses and headed for the door,
A most beautiful redhead who entered as I did,
Happened to depart,
By the way have you met the Wife?