Helen Reddy Fifty Percent

I don’t iron his shirts

I don’t sew on his buttons

I don’t know all the jokes he tells or the songs he hums

Though I may hold him all through the night

He may not be here when the morning comes

I don’t pick out his ties

Or expect his tomorrows

But I feel when he’s in my arms, he’s where he wants to be

We have no memories bittersweet with time

And I doubt if he’ll spend New Year’s Eve with me

I don’t share his name

I don’t wear his ring

There’s no piece of paper saying that he’s mine

But he says he loves me and I believe it’s true

Doesn’t that make someone belong to you?

So I don’t share his name

So I don’t wear his ring

So there’s no piece of paper saying that he’s mine

So we don’t have the memories

I’ve had enough memories

I’ve washed enough mornings

I’ve dried enough evenings

I’ve had enough birthdays to know what I want

Life is anyone’s guess

It’s a constant surprise

Though you don’t plan to fall in love

When you fall…you fall

I’d rather have fifty percent of him

Or any percent of him

Than all of anybody else at all