Tag Archives: marriage

2034. On safari

(The opening sentence for this story was suggested by Doug Jacquier of Six Crooked Highways. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future opening sentence for these stories, please leave your suggestion in the comments – only one suggestion per person!)

If he had his time again, Clarence wouldn’t have bought the giraffe. His wife had always been hard to buy for and he had thought that the giraffe for her fortieth birthday would have been welcomed. After all, she had given him a colony of penguins (just six) for his forty-fourth birthday, plus a gigantic walk in freezer. Cristobelle (that wasn’t her real name but the name she preferred) had taken a particular liking to the giraffes when they were on safari in Africa. She was forever sitting up the front of the jeep with the Guide having a wonderful time seeing the giraffes, and in the evenings when Clarence retired early after such a fun-filled day she would ask the Guide to take her out to see the giraffes again.

Naturally Clarence thought she would be thrilled with a giraffe for her birthday but she seemed quite disgusted with it.

That was almost a year ago. As if Clarence was not busy enough trying to look after his (now seven) penguins, he also had to look after this jolly giraffe. He offered it to the local zoo but they said they were giraffed-out. To be honest, Clarence already knew that they had too many giraffes because that is how he had managed to purchase one for Christobelle’s birthday.

It therefore came as a big surprise when Christobelle announced that for her forty-first she wouldn’t mind going alone back to Africa to see the giraffes.

“I know that once is enough for you, darling. So I don’t mind going alone.”

A few months after Christobelle arrived in Africa, Clarence got an email, part of which is printed below:

Hi Clarence. Well I got the same Guide as before which was fantastic. But there’s this woman on Safari from London who is a total nuisance. She’s loud and sits up the front of the jeep all the time with the Guide like she owns him. We don’t need to see any hippopotamuses because there’s one all the time sitting up the front with the Guide. She has completely ruined the safari by her dominating presence. I’m coming home.

It was too late for her to come home. Clarence’s friend, Annie, had moved in. They shared an interest in penguins, and she said she would be delighted (among other things) to help out with looking after the giraffe. And guess what? Clarence has bought Annie a warthog called Christobelle for her twenty-second birthday.

2030. Mustang Molly

(The opening sentence for this story was suggested by Badfinger20 who is Max of PowerPop. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future opening sentence for these stories, please leave your suggestion in the comments – only one suggestion per person!)

Sam and Molly bought a 1966 Mustang from Molly’s dad but when driving away they heard something rattling in the door panel. They hadn’t paid much for the car. It was sort of an engagement present from Molly’s parents, Mack and Laura Rice.

Mack Rice was one of these dads who couldn’t help but insinuate possible future situations. Molly and Sam had been living together for almost three years. During that time Mack had hinted about marriage and when, and engagement and when, and wedding and when. Once he even personally oversaw Laura’s frosting of Molly’s birthday cake. It looked remarkably like a wedding cake.

“Oh Daddy!” exclaimed Molly. “Is this meant to be a hint?”

And now, to celebrate their engagement – at last! at last! – Mack had sold them his prize 1966 Mustang for a song. He was as excited about the engagement as they were excited about the car! But that rattling in the door panel. Mack had never said anything about that before. It was unlikely to be a mechanical thing because not even a fly had been allowed to land on the Mustang in the fifty-four years Mack had owned it. Sam would investigate as soon as they got home.

Sam carefully removed the inside of the door panel. There it was! The cause of the noise! A baby’s rattle!

“Oh Daddy!” exclaimed Molly. “Is this meant to be a hint?”

2019. A gaggle of gossipers

(Today’s story is the penultimate. Tomorrow’s story (Number 2020) will be the last – at least for a while. I am writing this in September so who knows! Tomorrow’s story has LOTS of links so it’s not impossible that it will automatically end up in your email trash. Just a warning!)

Monique and Marcel had known each other for years. They were good friends since university days. Now both were widowed. They usually met once or twice a month for coffee and a chat. Each found support from the other in their loss.

After some time they started to hear rumours: they were a couple, they were dating, they were inevitably going to get married… None of this was true, but rumours stick.

“Apparently they haven’t as yet moved into the same house,” said Nora Cudworthy to Mabel Johnstoneville. “You’d think they would. After all, they do everything else. They should stop pretending we don’t know and move in.”

“I heard,” said Sandy Monteverdi to Joe Devon, “that they were having an affair long before their spouses died. I’m not surprised, judging from the way they carry on these days.”

“It’s unbelievable! Unbelievable!” said Carmel Cranford to Tessa London. “They have their grandchildren come to stay and I heard that Marcel and Monique spend all their time otherwise engaged. Unbelievable!”

“Enough is enough!” declared Monique to Marcel. “Let’s add fuel to the fire. Let’s go away together in the same car to some fancy resort somewhere and leave them to chatter.”

And they did! Off they trundled ostentatiously in the car.

While they were away the nearby volcano erupted and utterly decimated the village. It was like a modern Pompeii. The whole gaggle of gossipers was gone. Of course, Monique and Marcel were safe. But there was no one left to announce their engagement to.

2012. Traditional wedding plans

Amanda was a solo mother. She had the one daughter, Anita, who was eighteen. Amanda knew that one day, perhaps sooner than later, Anita would get married. She knew that although Anita would say it doesn’t matter she really would like to have a lovely wedding. Nothing lavish; but a lovely wedding with flowers and pretty clothes and a modest but enjoyable feast. Of course, Amanda didn’t have much money but she had saved little bits for a long time. In fact, every Saturday Amanda would sell herbs growing in pots at the town’s Saturday Street Market. It was a dollar here and a dollar there.

Nineteen years earlier, Amanda had got married. She had always dreamed of a wedding. It ended up being “a rushed job” because Anita was on the way. Two weeks later, Kevin was killed in a car accident. It was partly why Amanda was determined to give Anita the best wedding possible.

Suddenly, an engagement was announced! Fintan was the loveliest. Amanda couldn’t have wished for a better possible son-in-law! His father was a lawyer, and Fintan was in his first year practising as a family doctor. Amanda couldn’t wait to meet his parents!

His parents said they’d pay for the wedding drinks; that was the tradition, and Amanda would pay for the rest. They suggested they limit the invited guests to two hundred each. Amanda said she didn’t think she knew that many people, and Fintan’s parents said that it was a good thing because they could invite more on their side to make up the numbers. It was, after all, a society wedding. He was an important lawyer in the town. Things had to be done properly.

What a mess it was for Amanda! What stress! She would have to tell Fintan’s parents that she couldn’t afford it. But first she would have to tell the happy couple.

Anita and Fintan laughed! They had a solution! They’d already thought it out. They were eloping. Tomorrow. And they did!

Fintan was disinherited. It didn’t matter too much because his medical practice flourished. These days Amanda has three grandchildren to help her on Saturdays at her herb stall. Fintan’s parents have no grandchildren; well, none that they care to know.

2007. What to do?

(Just before today’s story! – a quick note to say that my childhood “autobiography” – Bits of a Boyhood – has been wonderfully reviewed by Iseult Murphy – HERE! She is the most prolific reader online and she posts many reviews that are well worth it. Thank you, Iseult! And so to today’s story:)

 

Francine didn’t know what exactly she had in mind when she said “I would very much like to have some time alone.” She had said that to her husband. She needed space. It’s not that he did anything untoward; it’s just that she needed the occasional break from his sporadic odd behaviour. He wouldn’t go to the doctor; possibly he didn’t need to go to the doctor, but Francine was not capable of diagnosing “what was going on”. For example, he would open and close a door four or five times before going through it. He didn’t always do that. Things like that went in “bouts”.

And that is why Francine needed to take the occasional break. This time however, things were different. He had taken his pet canary out of its cage and thrown it to freedom out the window. He had set the dishwasher going three times when there weren’t any dishes to wash. And now he was standing at the door between the sitting room and the dining room and opening and closing it and saying over and over “Come in! Come in!”

Francine consoled herself by joking that perhaps he was trying to welcome back his escaped canary.

Eventually she said, as she had said before, that he needed to go and see a doctor. But he answered (and he seemed quite normal and lovely in his answer) that he didn’t need to do that. There was nothing wrong with him. The stress was all in Francine’s head.

And that is when Francine said, “I would very much like to have some time alone”. Arnold said, “Alright then, why don’t you go for a walk?” So Francine put on her walking shoes and went for a long walk, and thought about things without coming to any conclusion.

When she got home Arnold was in the kitchen cooking some bananas in the oven. She asked him what he was doing and he said the television had said not to feed the dog raw meat.

“But bananas are not meat,” said Francine, “and we don’t have a dog.”

Anyway, by evening Arnold was back to normal. They watched a TV program together and had a normal conversation, and then Arnold went to bed.

Francine sat in the armchair wondering what to do. She honestly didn’t know what she should do next. If Arnold had dropped dead it would be sad of course but definite. Instead, everything was so “up in the air”.

2004. Innocent of murder

Well, Officer, I didn’t mean to kill him. He was my husband, after all. I dare say some married couples reach a stage where one or the other want to kill the spouse off. That certainly wasn’t the case with my husband and me.

I know we’ve had our ups and downs, but that doesn’t mean to say I wanted to kill him. Murder couldn’t have been further from my mind. As you must be able to tell from my personality, I hardly know one end of a gun from another. So it’s quite silly to accuse me of murdering my husband. His death was an accident.

Yes I know he was having a torrid affair with that cheap and tasteless woman who volunteers in the Opportunity Shop. You know the one? She wears artificial fur, and tights with leopard markings. And her shoes, when she’s wearing them – goodness me! She certainly undresses for the part. I wish she had been standing next to my husband when he was shot. I just might have fortuitously missed my husband and shot her instead. By accident of course.

No! No! I certainly didn’t mean to kill George. I wanted to fire bullets into his knees and into that area below the belt and above the knees. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to suffer like you wouldn’t believe. Dying was not meant to be an option. Murder never! I wanted the agony to be slow, painful, and permanent.

1888. I can’t think of everything at once

“I can’t think of everything at once” was Bella’s way of not only trying to find a reason for what happened, but her way of coping with the situation.

Dale had left Bella quite unexpectedly. One minute they were happily married, or so Bella thought, and the next minute he’d upped and left and was cohabitating with that floosy from the confectionary shop down on the corner of Shelley Street. Bella had no idea what he saw in her. And now Bella was on her own. The dividing of the matrimonial goods hadn’t as yet happened, but Bella was ensconced in the joint house and she wasn’t budging for the time being. Besides, it was winter and the house had a log fire and lots of firewood stack in the shed. She would cope.

On a rather chilly winter’s evening Bella discovered she had let the log fire go out. Dale had always set and lit the fire but she wasn’t entirely impractical. She screwed up some pages of newspaper and wigwammed some kindling over the top of it. That was when she discovered that she couldn’t think of everything at once. Dale had always lit the fire with his cigarette lighter. There were no matches in the house. Matches had not been on her grocery list.

Of course it was a silly idea, but Bella had heard since early childhood that primitive humans started a fire by rubbing two sticks together. She didn’t have a clue how to do it, and suspected very much that it wouldn’t work anyway. For a time she thought she would stay warm by wrapping herself up in blankets. She would buy some matches tomorrow. But then Bella thought of a solution.

She rolled up a sheet of newspaper tightly. She went to the kitchen, turned on the toaster, and from the element of the toaster she lit the rolled up newspaper. On the way to the wood burner with her burning torch she brushed past the lacy curtains in the dining room.

It’s always a shame when nothing is insured.

(Note: Today’s story number of 1888 is out of sync. That’s because a month or so back Story 1888 was missed – so this is a catch-up!)

1984. Honey, I never made it

Granville had made his wife, Doreen, the most beautiful rocking chair. It had taken him months of secret working in the shed out the back. Doreen never knew what he was up to. She supposed he was simply messing about, and then one day he produced the rocking chair and said “I made this for you, Honey.”

What a beautiful chair! Carved legs! A perfect, perfect rocking motion! Even the sweetest cushion on the seat!

“What a clever husband I have!” declared Doreen. “Who would have believed?”

But the truth was, Granville had started to make a rocking chair and things didn’t work out. It was a mess, so he had a rocking chair made. It certainly was a magnificent rocking chair, but he had merely pretended to have made it himself.

“What a clever husband I have!” repeated Doreen. “Who would have believed?” She was over the moon.

Sometime later, Granville was diagnosed with a terminal disease. He grew weaker by the day. He knew, as he reviewed his life, that entrance to eternity perhaps demanded sorrow for sins. He simply had to tell Doreen about the rocking chair.

It was clear that the end was near. Granville still hadn’t confessed to Doreen. And then, with one gigantic effort he declared “Honey, I never made it”. Within seconds he was dead.

Doreen always thought, as she rocked her way through widowhood, that Granville’s final “Honey, I never made it” was some premonition that he had been refused entrance through the Pearly Gates.

1965. Just down the corridor

(This is the fourth of seven days of Science Faction).

Bevan lived in a single bedroom apartment block. It’s not the living arrangement he would have preferred, but it would do for the time being. He was saving to buy a proper home, with a small garden and lawn, and proper neighbours over the fence – not neighbours who could be described as “a couple of doors down the corridor”.

It wasn’t long before he noticed Magdalene. Her apartment was on the same floor. She was always very pleasant when they passed. In fact, she was straight-out lovely. They seemed to be roughly the same age. Her clothes and makeup were always done to perfection. Her personality was bubbly. Her speech was music. In fact, Bevan used to keep his door slightly ajar so he wouldn’t miss her when she came home. He didn’t want to not accidentally have the pleasure of bumping into her.

There was only one thing for it: he would have to ask her out on a date. It should be nothing too formal like a meal at a fancy restaurant. Maybe a movie followed by a coffee in a café. Twice he walked passed her door but was too afraid to knock.

“Blow it!” he thought one late Sunday afternoon. “It’s now or never.” He strode along the corridor before he had time to chicken out. He knocked. The door opened.

Oh my God! Great Scot! It was disgusting! She had forgotten to put on her artificial face. Her head was a squirming ball of worms and maggots. This intergalactic alien wasn’t one person; she was a thousand.

“Hold it! I’ll just put on my face.” She disappeared for no more than thirty seconds. When she reappeared it was the lovely Magdalene once again. “Just don’t tell anyone,” she said.

And that is how Bevan was silenced into owning his own home with a small garden and lawn, and proper neighbours over the fence. His delightful spouse wears her artificial face all the time these days.

Except when she takes a shower.

1959. A finger in every pie

Wendy and Ronald didn’t eat out that often. Now and again they might go to a fast-food chain and get something. Not to take home, but to simply have there and then on one of the outside, bird-crapped tables. But still, an outing is an outing. It’s a change of scene if not exactly dining at the Ritz.

They normally liked to eat healthy. They were not fuss-pots about food but I suppose they could be called “careful eaters”. Healthy eating meant that going to get an unhealthy meat pie or an unhealthy hamburger and French fries once in a while was an absolute treat!

It was while Ronald was tucking onto his kangaroo and double egg burger that he came across a finger; a human finger. Although he wasn’t sure because he had already bitten into it and therefore pulled the finger out of his mouth, he was ninety percent sure that the finger had been stuck in the kangaroo meat rissole.

“Look what I found in my hamburger!” exclaimed Ronald to Wendy. “Someone’s index finger!”

“It’s not an index finger,” said Wendy. “I think it’s a middle finger.”

“How would you know that?” said Ronald. “They’re both very much the same.”

A wee argument ensued, with both Wendy and Robert sticking to their guns; although Wendy reckoned it was from a right hand and Ronald from a left. In the end they were able to laugh about it.

“It’s an unresolved mystery,” said Ronald as he scrapped his leftover meal with the uneaten finger into the waste bin. “I guess it’s something we will never solve.”

Which just goes to show, if a moral is to be taken from this episode, that wee matrimonial disagreements can sometimes be solved with a little laughter.