My husband stopped by my room to say hello tonight, as he always did after work. He passed away two years ago.
She threw the old man’s ring into the weeds of the vacant lot, as her father cursed in Italian in the background. She would marry whom she chose.
When they married, he was four times her age but they got along marvelously. Then some asshole invented Viagra.
All the other nuns assumed she had joined them because of a shared devotion. She later confessed it was simply because she hadn’t realized that the last man who asked her to marry him would be the last man who asked her to marry him.
When her childhood crush informed her he was getting married, she felt devastated until he added: “We’ve been together so long, I feel like I owe it to her.” Suddenly, she felt very sorry for his fiancée.
I wasn’t lying when I told him I didn’t dance with another man. But he didn’t ask me if I kissed one.
It’s been fun babe, but sorry. Your best friend deserves his wife’s fidelity.
I suppose what shocked me was the matter-of-fact way she said, “Why can’t men be who they really are when courting a woman, instead of surprising her with their true selves once married?
I mean really, darling,” she added, setting the teacup down and turning to stare out the window, “It’s getting awfully tiring disposing of the bodies, and I’m simply running out of garden.”
My first marriage was a mistake. And it still is.
June and I married for money. Ten years later all that was left was being married.
The crowd all at once gasped in shock as little chubby-cheeked Blue-eyes suddenly ran past the bride and groom and flung the ring into the lake, pillow and all. “Nice work, chubby-cheeks,” I muttered to the tree I was peering around the edge of, watching intently as the wedding reception turned to chaos, not once taking my eyes off the beautiful bride as I flipped open my wallet and took out the promised ten dollar reward.
Tiffany slid off her ring and set it gently on top of the dresser every night just before going to bed. She was a wife by day; dreamer, by night.
For years I dreamt desperately, passionately of escape. Had it always been as simple as just walking out the front door?
“How did you know you could marry him?”
“During breakfast I told him I didn’t like to eat bacon because the striped fatty bits reminded me too much of human flesh, and he laughed.”
In retrospect, I’d say that travelling was quite similar to using a new bath salt: exciting at first because it’s new and different but then you’ve been in too long and your fingers start to prune and get all nasty just like they do for any other bath you’ve ever taken – but I have to admit, Bill’s excitement to see Barcelona and Santorini, Cairo and Istanbul, Tokyo and Singapore, Auckland and Ushuaia and all those other places I’ve already been to not once but thrice, seems to have reignited an excitement in me that I rendered long gone. Although I desperately long to settle down and stay right where I am for once in my life, Bill gave me the gift of feeling young again – that wondrous excitement of youth – so I suppose the least I can do for my husband is pour in the salt and take a bath with him.
“Well you really made a first-class fool of yourself in there, Scott – you feel good about that?”
“You know what they say, babe – arrogance is bliss!”
She looked stunning in her white wedding dress, the flowing train shimmering under the morning sunlight.
If only he had treasured that five years ago.
After awhile, Stan convinced himself it really had been only a one night stand. Two weeks later, he forgot his wedding anniversary.
You’ll never see your wife and children
again. So tell us what it was going through your head when you looked into their eyes
and said “no thanks I’ll take the hooker instead.”
She waited 15 years to finally have stability and even begged her husband to get a stable job so she could get out of God forsaken Wales – a beautiful country with hardly any crime. Unfortunately, they wound up moving to Houston – an ugly city with nothing but crime.