Reasons Other Than Love
(Guess what this other crazy reason is!)
Marrying for love is ideal,
Marrying to avoid dishonor
- i.e. the girl gets pregnant and marrying “is the right thing to do” - might be ethical,
Marrying for convenience is dicey and lousy,
Marrying on the rebound is both imprudent and risky,
Marrying for companionship
– i.e. mature couple whose children have left the coop - is sympathetic,
Marrying for companionship, if just a ruse, is doubly pathetic;
But marrying for one other reason not mentioned above is –
What is there to say?
(Intro to a story with the same title, included in The Romance Fantasist; check and read on to see what on earth this other reason for marrying is!)
About the Creator
Josephine Crispin
Writer, editor, and storyteller who reinvented herself and worked in the past 10 years in the media intelligence business, she's finally free to write and share her stories, fiction and non-fiction alike without constraints, to the world.
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More stories from Josephine Crispin and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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