Marry Me Read Free Page A

we’re out. Whenever the bell rings she’ll open the door in delight, and cry ‘Romantico, I knew you would come,’ before realising that it isn’t him, sobbing a little bit, then signing for whatever’s arrived. Last time it was a food processor.

REGISTER
    My wife had been married so many times before that she knew exactly what to expect on our special day. ‘My favourite bit is always the vows and the rings and all that,’ she said, ‘but I never like it when they make you write in that big book. It’s really boring, and the audience just sort of sits there.’ She was right—as we signed the register, I could sense that the guests didn’t quite know what to do with themselves. ‘Hurry up,’ she whispered. ‘We’re losing them.’

REVEALING
    My wife feels desperately sorry for women who wear revealing clothes. Whenever we’re out together and we pass a girl in a short skirt that offers an uninterrupted view of long, smooth legs, she’ll tut, and mutter something like, ‘It’s such a pity—she’s got no self-respect.’ I completely agree with her; if I’m ever out on my own and happen to catch a glimpse of a young lady in a dress so tight that it clings to every contour of her supple body, showing in minute detail the luxuriant shape of her breasts and the outline of her pert behind, I am consumed by an overwhelming sadness. Sighing, I look away almost as quickly as I can.

CART
    After living together for over five years, there wasn’t much left for us to talk about, and sexwise we were down to once a fortnight. I was spending more and more of my free time in the garden shed, sorting through my toolbox, and most evenings she would be round at her sister’s, watching soap operas and complaining about me. There was no getting away from it—we needed to have a serious talk about our future.
    After a long conversation, we agreed that the time had finally come for us to get married. As soon as we had made the decision, her eyes filled with a light that I hadn’t seen for a long time. ‘Everyone will be so happy for us,’ she sighed. She rushed to the shop, and came back minutes later clutching a wedding magazine. She leafed through it,
ooh
ing and
aah
ing at the pictures. ‘Look at these people,’ she squealed, pointing. ‘They’re in a horse and cart.’
    I supposed I could put up with going in a horse and cart.

ATTRIBUTES
    My friends are all married to very attractive women, and my wife couldn’t help but feel a little insecure about this. When we got home after a night out with them it all boiled over, and she started to make spiteful comments. I gave her a hug, and told her that while she may not be in their league, she still had an awful lot going for her.
    â€˜Really?’ she said, glad of the reassurance.
    â€˜Really.’ I reached for a pen and a pad of paper, and together we set out to compile a list of her attributes. By daybreak, all we had written was that she had almost kicked her heroin habit, and that her new hairstyle might start suiting her once it had had a chance to grow out a bit.

PER CENT
    My wife started introducing me to people as ‘My current husband’.
    â€˜Darling,’ I said, smiling at her choice of words, ‘what’s all this “current” business? Peo­ple will think you’re looking to move on.’
    â€˜I hadn’t thought about that,’ she said. ‘I suppose they would—but then again, they wouldn’t be a hundred per cent wrong.’
    I felt my balance go. ‘How many per cent wrong would they be?’
    She looked serious for a while and bit her lip, then her expression relaxed. ‘Zero per cent,’ she said.

GOETHE
    Whenever we were invited to a wedding, my girlfriend would be fiercely critical of even the slightest display of extravagance. ‘Remem­ber what Goethe