The ceremony was fine, stuffy and long but fine. The party had been alright, except that her father had booked a stuffy classical six piece when they really wanted to get a soul band.
But the father-in-law was paying so you could only say so much, and she never ever stood up to him anyway. So he had to spend five hours in a restrictive tuxedo, stealing glances at her as she danced with her father, with the best man, nodding and smiling as old ladies pulled at his arms so they could kiss his cheeks and congratulate him, telling him how handsome he was, how they wished he had cut his hair.
Then it was over, they both sighed with relief as they stumbled from the hall into the car and drove off out of the city. Spent the whole night on the road,her feet hanging out the window, his bowtie flapping.
Got to the cottage the next morning, she stepped out of her dress, kept the veil and told him to follow her into the field.


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CraigTowsley (joined over 11 years ago)
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I think this site is like a power juicer to the armadillo-skinned oranges of writer's block.

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