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.