This came up again this week… The husband insists that he’s a spritely 40, but his gait and gray temples suggest otherwise… I’ve checked his documentation and it all seems to checks, but sometimes I do wonder who he had to trick/bribe/kill to get his records “fixed”.
He and I had known each other for two years. His birth date was exactly six years and eleven months before me, but I could accept that. Our relationship had blossomed from one of lust and like, into full on love. I had met his parents, and he had met mine. Everyone got along, and pronounced it grand.
We were engaged to be married in the spring, a time of awakening, a time of refresh. He bent down on one knee and asked me to be his Misses. How could I refuse? We set the date for summer, with only three months to prepare. The decorations, the flowers, the food… it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was him and I, and the life we would share. He wanted to give me everything I wanted: the house, the car, and the ring. I was less inclined to…
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