Romantic like

I keep the yard good. I clean up after m’self. So the business about not bein’ romantic comes as a bit of a shock.

That’s why I send ’er out for a day’s shoppin’. When she’s gone I start cleanin’. The house looks like magazine photos, it’s so tidy.

I set the good table with the good plates, then get the oven on. I’ve got ‘cordon bleu’, heat an’ eat from the deli.

About five she’s back. Had a good day at the shops, an’ when she sees the house an’ me all fresh shaved she says, ‘Gordon, what a surprise.’

I pour ’er champagne an’ we eat an’ she’s sayin’ how nice ev’rythin’ is.

After coffee she says we oughtta maybe not watch telly tonight. So I bring out the box.

She unties it, looks in, then laughs. ‘Red!’ she says.

‘Pretty fancy,’

But she just walks to the wardrobe an’ I reckon I’ve blown it. Then she gets a different box—the one from our weddin’—an’ she says, ‘maybe these instead, eh?’

She puts ’em on an, blimey she looks good.

An’ she says, ‘Come ’ere Gordon, ya duffer. You’re all the romance I’ll ever need.’

 

(this is an edited version of the story Red, published on this day, 2010. See about small stories about love)

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