Hey, Daria -- you're the tops!

I wanted to give my entrepreneur daughter a compliment. I wanted to tell her she's the tops, she's terrific, she can take over the world. Or that part of the world in which she's most interested, anyway. I was lost for words, and went to my Poetry & Lyrics folder where I keep some of my faves. Below is an excerpt from Cole Porter's You're the Top, from Anything Goes; and here is the whole thing. I'd forgotten how deliciously funny it is:

At least it'll tell you how great you are.
You're the tops ...
You're the top, you're the Colosseum,
You're the top, you're the Louvre Museum,
You're a melody from a symphony by Strauss,
You're a Bendel bonnet, a Shakespeare sonnet, you're Mickey Mouse.
You're the Nile, you're the Tower of Pisa,
You're the smile on the Mona Lisa,
I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop,
But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top.

You're the top you're Mahatma Gandhi,
You're the top, you're Napoleon Brandy ...
You're the top, You're an Arrow collar.
You're the top, You're a Coolidge dollar.
You're the nimble tread of the feet of Fred Astaire.
You're an O'Neill drama, You're Whistler's mama,
You're Camembert.
You're a rose; You're Inferno's Dante,
You're the nose of the great Durante.
I'm just in the way, as the French would say 'de trop'
But if, baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top.

You're the top, You're a Waldorf salad.
You're the top, You're a Berlin ballad.
You're the baby grand of a lady and a gent,
You're an old Dutch master, You're Mrs Aster,
You're Pepsodent.
You're romance, You're the steppes of Russia,
You're the pants on a Roxy usher.
I'm a lazy lout, that's just about to stop,
But if baby, I'm the bottom,
You're the top.

Now, you tell me: Can I call my firstborn Camembert? Will she really consider it a compliment if I compare her to the Coliseum? Can I tell her "You're Pepsodent" with a straight face?... Perhaps I'll settle for Napoleon brandy. Or just send her a link to the clip on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=My7HaXp1Sq4…


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